


Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible

by Disclaimer_Fic



Series: Disclaimer [1]
Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abandonment, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Skateboarder Jensen, Tattoo Artist Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disclaimer_Fic/pseuds/Disclaimer_Fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared and Jensen are willing to do almost anything to help their friends, but Chris is asking them to do the one thing they never thought they’d do: grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disclaimer: We Will Not Be Held Responsible

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my livejournal in September, 2009.

“What do you think they’re saying?”

 

“I don’t know, man, but whatever it is, he looks pissed.”

“He always looks pissed.”

“Yeah, but not that pissed.”

“No, you’re right. Usually, he looks more pissed when she’s around.”

“Guys!”

At that, four heads pop up and away from the tiny window in the wall between the kitchen and the living room. Four faces turn guiltily toward the voice, heads dipped, though they don’t actually look all that sorry, any of them.

Jensen rolls his eyes and hitches his thumb over his shoulder, motioning for his friends to step away from the window and give Chris and his sister, Lindsay, a little privacy.

“How would you like it if we all crowded into your kitchen and spied on your conversations with your family?” he asks, stopping himself short and turning. “I totally just sounded like my mother right then, didn’t I?”

A wide hand reaches out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over Jensen’s pouting lip. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to know the answer to that question,” Jared answers. “I’ve never met your mom.”

Jensen flips Jared off but still accepts the kiss that Jared drops onto his lips before Jared crosses the room to stand beside Steve, both with sleeves of tattoos crossed over their chests, hips leaning against the counter on the far side of the kitchen.

“So what’s the junkie’s damage this time?” Mike asks after withdrawing another long-necked bottle from the refrigerator. “Woman!” he shouts when a small hand smacks the back of his bald head.

Danneel just smirks and then shrugs innocently, sashaying over to the rolling espresso cart next to the window. She climbs onto the window ledge and lets her legs swing freely, clunky combat boots thudding against the wall in a hypnotic rhythm. “How long do we have to stay in here anyway?” she asks, blowing a strand of dyed-crimson hair from her face. “This is a party, man.”

It _was_ a party. Jensen doesn’t know how in the fuck he’s supposed to know what’s going on with Chris and Lindsay. Sure, he’s been Chris’ best friend since they were kids, but Steve’s in a band with the fucking guy. Why doesn’t everyone grill him about the interruption?

All Jensen knows is that tonight started as any other Kane party. There was way too much booze, the music was too loud, and the girls were not encouraged to keep their clothing on for long. It was a good time, lots of laughs, and people started dispersing around eleven. Apparently, normal adults have to be at work early in the morning or something. 

Danneel hung around to talk about a personal problem with Mike - which probably means Tom is slipping back into the closet again, though he’s never actually come out of it - and Jared and Jensen never leave a party at Chris and Steve’s before everyone else is gone. It isn’t a rule, but it might as well. The entire night was business as usual.

Fifteen minutes ago, everything changed. The squeal of tires sounded in front of the house and Chris’ crazy, drug-addled sister started screaming for him at the top of her lungs from the front porch. Though they’re all sequestered in the kitchen, though there’s an entire living room separating them from the pair on the porch, it’s pretty clear that they’re disagreeing about something. Vehemently.

Everyone knows better than to step in and try to help.

“Maybe she has cancer,” Mike muses, back leaned against the refrigerator, eyes tilted toward the ceiling. Before anyone can tell him what an idiot he is, Jared’s long arm extends, the back of his hand connecting soundly with the center of Mike’s chest. “Fucker!” Mike exclaims. “I’m tired of being everyone’s goddamn punching bag!”

“Then stop being a fucking idiot,” Jared suggests easily.

Jensen’s lip quirks as he lets his eyes glide over that mountain of man muscle over there, all six feet and four inches of him. Jared is simultaneously simple and complex, an enigma if Jensen has ever met one, and sometimes he’s surprised to find he still loves that guy as much as he does after three years together. Neither of them were what anyone would describe as long-term relationship guys when they met. 

Sometimes it still floors him that he can look at Jared and just know that he’s going to be with him for the rest of his natural life. It’s even more shocking that he’s fine with it.

Steve opens his mouth to say something and Jensen thinks he’ll probably tell them all to head out, that he’ll have Chris call in the morning, when there’s a timid knock on the back door. 

Since Jensen is the closest, he reaches over to twist the knob, pausing to consider the slight kid standing on the other side.

“Um,” the kid shifts uneasily, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear into himself. It’s the same posture Jared adopts when he’s nervous about something or feeling even the slightest bit out of place. “‘m s’posed to be waitin’ in the car, but-,” he stares at his shoes, like maybe the ground will just swallow him up or something. “I gotta pee.”

It would be fine, except Jensen has no idea who the hell this kid is, or why he’s standing at Chris’ back door in the middle of the night. “Do I know you?” he asks skeptically, eyebrow raised in confusion. He doesn’t usually drink at these parties, or anywhere, but maybe he had one earlier and doesn’t remember.

“Come on in, Bray,” Steve invites easily, stepping around Jensen to swing the door open a little bit wider. 

The kid looks grateful and steps around Jensen with a sheepish grin and a shrug. When he disappears around the corner into the bathroom, Jensen turns to Steve.

“Lindsay's asshole boyfriend's kid,” is Steve's only explanation as he closes the back door.

Danneel is the only one who looks like she might comment on this latest revelation, but when she starts to say it, the slam of the front door and the squeal of tires that directly precedes Chris storming into the kitchen stops her words in her throat. The door bangs against the wall in his wake, a string of curse words spewing all over the kitchen.

“Stupid fucking-,” he interrupts himself by putting his fist through the kitchen counter and then yelping. Since the counter is made of granite, punching through it was apparently harder than he thought it would be. “I can’t fucking believe her!

It's a brave soul who dares to ask for clarification. Jensen is usually the only one allowed to question Chris when he gets like this, mostly because they’ve been friends for a lifetime and Chris protects Jensen by not punching him in the neck. This time, though, not even Jensen is opening his mouth.

Steve hands Chris a bottle of beer without a word, and that's when the bathroom door around the corner creaks on its hinges.The kid can’t miss the tension in the room when he emerges, wiping his freshly washed hands on the back pockets of his over-sized jeans. 

He looks sheepishly around the room and his eyes settle on Chris. With a small wave and a shy smile, he continues his path toward the door. “Thanks,” is all he says.

Before he can let himself out, though, Chris pushes Mike out of the way of the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of soda from inside. “Bray, man, where's the fire?” he asks, aiming for jovial and almost pulling it off.

The kid's eyes widen. “Lindsay told me to wait in the car,” he mumbles, and everyone can feel the fear radiating from him.

Without so much as a word of instruction, Steve takes the bottle from Chris and gives it to the kid, a hand on his small shoulders. “Come on,” he says, leading the boy toward the door and into the living room. “I'll let you have the pleasure of losing to me at Guitar Hero again,” his voice fades as the door clicks shut behind him.

“What the hell, man?” Mike is the first to speak once they hear the music coming from the television in the other room.

Chris sighs, drinks from his beer bottle, and crosses his feet at his ankles to lean against the counter. His posture is still tight, but not nearly as much as it was a few minutes ago. “Lindsay's ass-monkey of a boyfriend took off while she was at work today. She got home and all his shit was gone. Half of hers, too,” he explains, head shaking even as he says the words, like he can't believe it himself. “All he left her was the kid,” he adds.

Jensen's eyes pop wide. “He left his kid behind? With Lindsay?” he asks incredulously. 

In the fifteen years that Jensen has known Christian Kane and his little sister, the girl has been on drugs he's never heard of, slept with men he wouldn't touch with a pole, and spent enough time in jail to have her mail forwarded there. Any fucker in their right mind would never, ever, leave a child in her care. Or, ya know, a guinea pig. She could probably kill a cactus. 

“And she left him here with you,” Jared fills in the blank that most of their minds hadn't even realized was empty. 

“I told her no fucking way,” Chris says, taking another impossibly long pull from his bottle. “She stormed out. Guess she saw his not being in the car as a prime escape route. So,” he lets the sentence trail and everyone just kind of keeps staring at the floor.

Chris and Steve have been fostering their band for a few years now. They play bars and festivals, making a relatively impressive name for themselves amongst crowds that appreciate live music. Tonight’s party was a celebration of their first headlining club tour, one that’s set to start tomorrow night in Vegas. It’s meant to criss-cross the entire country over the next six months. It’s not exactly a child-rearing life they lead.

 

“Chris,” Danneel's voice is low and firm when she finally breaks the silence. “You gotta call the police.” Everyone but Chris looks surprised by that suggestion. “What? You guys! This dickhead abandoned his child! That's against the law! They can track him down, arrest him for that shit.”

Jensen loves Danneel – he really does – but her logic isn’t always welcome with this crowd. “How's that gonna help our present situation, Dani?” he asks, realizing only after the words are out that he's made it all of their problem, not just Chris'. 

It’s not, none of them have any obligation here, except that Chris is their friend. As far as Jensen is concerned, that makes it all of their problem.

“Well, what the fuck else is he gonna do, Jen? Drag the kid out on tour with him? At least the police can take him to some shelter or something.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest like she's the only reasonable one in the room.

“No,” Chris shakes his head, his dark hair falling around his face with the movement. 

“Well, it's not like I can take him home with me,” Mike points out, and really? Nobody in their right mind would even think of asking him to. He’s like that cousin that makes everyone at the family reunion laugh, but nobody claims him outside of that. He’s not a considerable step up from Lindsay as far as responsible parents go.

With a huff and a roll of her eyes, Danneel adds, “No way in hell am I taking some strange boy in the throes of puberty home with me.” Jensen doesn't remember anybody asking her to, either. “So unless you're going to entrust the care and feeding of a sixth grader to Sid and Nancy here,” she motions with her head toward Jared and Jensen before going on, “you really don't have a fucking choice, do you?”

With that, Danneel slides out of the window and storms out the back door like she's personally offended at the evening's turn of events. 

A long silence follows her, one that Mike breaks it by declaring, “She's such a drama queen!” After another drink, he tilts his head in the direction of the living room. “I'ma go enlighten Stevey on the finer points of playing the guitar.”

It is, quite possibly, the funniest thing Mike's ever said, the idea that he could teach Steve anything about music at all, but nobody in the small kitchen is laughing. In fact, Jared and Jensen are exchanging worried looks and Chris is just staring at the floor, head lost in the confusion of how his perfect celebration turned into something of a surreal movie moment.

“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris finally says, his sex-and-whiskey voice drawling the words out as though the plan is just forming in his mind. “Maybe by mornin' I'll know what else to do with 'im.”

He doesn't mean to, but Jensen huffs sarcastically and says, “And maybe I'll grow little white wings and flutter off into the sunset.” Jared sends him a look that says he's being an asshole and Jensen just shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Jay? This is the most fuckin' ridiculous,” he stops and shakes his head. “Chris, what the fuck, man?” 

The question's not very descriptive, but it says everything that none of them can. 

“Dude, I don't know,” Chris shakes his head and pushes off the counter. “Just know I ain't lettin' that kid get fuckin' abandoned three times in one day.” With that, he disappears through the door, cheerful voice booming fake and way-too-happy as he declares himself 'ready to school anyone who thinks themselves a guitar he-ro.'

“Jay,” Jensen starts when they're alone in the kitchen. He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, and rests his hands on Jared's waist. 

Today is their anniversary. Or yesterday was. What time is it anyway? Doesn't matter. Three years ago, when Jensen was new to Los Angeles and sleeping on Chris's couch, he was dragged to a place called Slinging Ink on the Santa Monica Pier. Steve works there part-time, when he's not making music, and Chris talked so much about the guy that Jensen felt like he already knew him by the time the little bell dinged over the door of the tattoo parlor.

But it wasn't Steve who caught Jensen's eye that day. It wasn’t Steve's table that he sat on, and it wasn't Steve who looked at him through shaggy bangs while pulling the skin of Jensen’s forearm tight and concentrating on the design he was etching there. It wasn't Steve who flirted with him shamelessly, and it sure as fuck wasn't Steve who Jensen asked to dinner that night. It’s not Steve that Jensen's been waking up with every morning since that very day. 

It was the big-ass owner of the place that pulled Jensen in that day three years ago, like some magnetic fucking force that just couldn't be denied.

It's Jared, feels like it's always been Jared. He thinks maybe Jared is the reason Jensen came to LA, as though the job he took designing skateboards for Element had nothing to do with it at all. Of course, he believes that the universe is a little bit bigger than that. There has to be a reason that everything flows together, like it's all just meant to be. Jensen can be kind of emo sometimes.

“Jensen, no,” Jared's voice is stern when Jensen turns his face to catch a glimpse of the hard line of his boyfriend's jaw. Jared's can play like a big puppy a lot of the time, but he can be a fucking scary pit bull sometimes, too.

Raising an eyebrow, Jensen just looks at Jared and prays that he can see the pleading there. It's not like he wants to do it or anything, but Chris needs help. This is what they do – help their friends when their friends need it, whether their friends have too much pride to ask, or not.

“We did it for Chad,” he reminds.

Jared rolls his eyes and fishes another beer out of the refrigerator. “Dog-sitting for a weekend while Chad's blowing his money on hookers and Patron in Vegas is not the same thing and you damn well know it!”

But it kind of is the same thing, Jensen wants to argue. It’s helping a friend who needs them. That Jared seems to think there are limits to the kind of help they can give is irritating, actually.

It’s also surprising, given that Jared is only about fifteen years removed from being Brayden himself, tossed around the system, passed from family to family, feeling like nobody wanted him. Jensen thinks that, of anyone in the world who might actually get what the kid's feeling, Jared should maybe have a little sympathy.

“Dude, what the fuck is a kid gonna do at our place?” Jared challenges when Jensen doesn't end up saying anything at all. “Gorge himself on beer and Reese cups which, in case you forgot, is the only thing we have in our goddamn fridge right now? Play video games all damn day? Maybe, when he gets bored with that, he can watch Ass Bangers 4!” 

Alright, so maybe it’s not entirely untrue that Jared and Jensen live in the least kid-friendly house on, maybe, the entire planet. They both own their own businesses and party like rock stars in their free time, so there’s not much time spent in the abode to begin with and, when they are there, they don’t so much bother with cleaning up after themselves. 

In fact, if he remembers correctly, there are a few empty beer bottles, a full ashtray, and a half-empty bottle of lube on the coffee table at the moment. Also, they might have left an empty pizza box, a couple of dirty coffee cups, and an impressive spread of sex toys littered about the kitchen counter. To be fair, though, the toys are clean. Jensen just left them out to dry.

And, okay, so there are stacks of B-grade horror movies all over the floor of their home theater, and it’s possible that the house might burst into flames at any moment, thanks to the tangled video game wires in the living room. There are impressive, in Jensen’s opinion, stacks of gay porn taller than the enormous flat screen television in their bedroom, and every piece of clothing Jensen owns is strewn across the floor there. 

So maybe Jared's a little bit right in asserting that their place isn't exactly right for a child. That is not the point.

“Jay,” Jensen tries to change his approach. “I know it's not ideal, okay? I just think that, I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do.”

He telegraphs the question before Jared asks it, which should maybe be a bit freaky, but Jensen finds it comforting. 

“Since when do we worry about the right thing to do?” Jared asks, exactly as Jensen anticipated.

The thing is, he’s not wrong, Jared’s not. They’re not exactly the poster children for good behavior. They’re both fans of the occasional recreational party drug, have zero brain-to-mouth filter, fuck anywhere they want, and have no interest in supporting any real or worthy causes. If it’s not effecting their own corner of the world, they really don’t care about it much, nor do they pretend to.

Although, “We donated to Prop 8 last year,” Jensen reminds Jared, like that makes them somehow fit to be awesome foster parents to a twelve-year-old.

Jared rolls his eyes and takes another drink of his beer. “Because you wanted to talk Brad Pitt into a threesome at the fundraiser,” he adds. 

“Semantics,” Jensen waves his hand and offers Jared a winning smile, though it doesn't seem to be having much effect. Switching his methods of persuasion, he steps into Jared's personal space and runs his hand up the front of his shirt, fingertips brushing seductively over the warm, hard muscles there. “I know it's a fucked up idea, and I know that it doesn't make sense. But Chris and Steve need this. They've worked too hard to have this tour crashed by Lindsay's stupidity, ya know?”

He feels like he might be making some headway, like Jared might be about to give in, when Mike comes storming through the door. “Jen, I might be a little late tomorrow,” he announces as though Jensen is not two steps away from shoving his tongue into Jared’s mouth and making him forget his own name. 

The thing about Mike is that he’s alright most of the time. When Jensen finally saved enough money to start his own business, he needed a place to design his own skate decks, board decals, hats and shirts. He had a vision, but it needed a home, and Jared was the one who found the old skate park down the pier from Slinging Ink. 

Mike’s grandfather had willed Ollie to him, along with its pro shop, even though it had been out of business for about ten years. After the sale was complete, Mike stuck around to help Jensen renovate and just never left. Between Jensen’s reputation and the clients that Jared kept sending his way, Jensen needed the help with the immediate demand and Mike loves Ollie as much as Jensen does because he sees it as a continuation of his grandfather’s legacy.

The problem is that he doesn’t actually need a paycheck, comes from plenty of money, and therefore shows up when he wants and stays for as long as he wants. His telling Jensen that he’s going to be late is merely a formality at this point.

“Not a problem, man,” Jensen assures him. “Tom called a staff meeting for four thirty, though, so be in by then.” Mike mumbles something over his shoulder, something that sounds a lot like ' _Man, fuck Tom and his stupid blue eyes_ ,' but he can't be sure. 

Nonplussed, Jensen turns back to the stroking of Jared’s chest.

But the moment is broken and Jared's shaking his head. “Jensen, no,” he insists, squirming away until he's broken the contact that's obviously too distracting for words.

“Jesus Christ, Jay,” he exclaims, frustrated by Jared's lack of cooperation. It's not usually so hard to convince him of, well, anything. The guy still does a lot of his thinking with his dick, if Jensen’s honest. “I would think you, of all people, would get this!” And he regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth.

“The fuck's that supposed to me?” Jared asks, his voice raising slightly. “Because I was raised in the system, I should feel some kind of responsibility to the foster kids of America? Fuck that!” he exclaims. “Wasn't nobody there explainin' shit to me. They can figure it out their damn selves,” he seethes, finger rising in Jensen's direction. “And fuck you, too, you presumptuous bastard.”

He doesn't apologize for the words, and Jensen doesn't expect him to. Jared's not the type of guy to say things he doesn't mean, even in anger. It might sting, or even hurt like hell to hear what Jared's really thinking, but Jensen can't deny that his bold, unerring honesty is one of the things he loves most about this powder keg of a human being.

That doesn’t mean he always likes it, or takes it lying down. “Ya know what? Fuck you right back, you self-righteous son of a bitch,” he fires. “Doesn't matter where you came from, or where that goddamn kid is headed. It matters that Chris is our friend and he needs some help out of a tight spot. You don't wanna help, fine. Don't fuckin' help. I'll take the kid to a hotel or somethin'. We’ll ride it out until we figure out a better plan. You don't have to be a fucking part of anything remotely charitable!”

Jared rolls his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. “You don't even know what you're talking about, Jen. It's just,” he deflates, as though trying to squash the argument without actually trying to squash it at all. “You don't know what you're talking about, okay?”

The tension between them drains away as Jensen steps forward, hands on the dangerously low waist of Jared’s jeans. “So explain it to me, Jay. Explain to me why you're so against helping a friend out.”

“Would you stop it? I am not against helping Chris out,” he insists, running his fingers through his hair. “But you can't just take a kid in off the street and expect everything to be all rainbows and kittens, okay? Doesn't work like in the movies, Jen,” Jared explains, as though Jensen lives in some fantasy world that he's not even aware doesn't exist in real life. “We don't know anything about him, okay? I mean, he's in there playing nice with Chris and Steve for now, but pretty soon, it's going to occur to him that he's been abandoned by his own fucking father. That shit fucks you up, Jensen. Makes you do shit you definitely shouldn't do.

“Say we let him sleep on our couch, and that's all fine and good, right? But what happens when he decides to tell someone that the gay guys he's livin' with made some kind of pass at him? It doesn’t have to be true, just has to be said to the right people and the right time and we're both on the California Sex Offenders registry, ya know?” He shakes his head and points a finger in Jensen's direction. “Don't look at me like that. You don't know, man. You don't know what kids can come up with when they're starved for attention and they just want somebody to listen to them for a second.”

They don’t talk like this, not often. Jensen has known for awhile that Jared grew up in the system. He knows that Jared was born in San Antonio and that he moved to LA on his eighteenth birthday. He also knows that it took copious amounts of alcohol to get that much of the past out of him. So Jared is right, Jensen really doesn’t know what it’s like to grow up like Jared did. He’s never really thought about it, because it was never really relevant.

“'Sides, even if he's an angel, it still doesn't work,” Jared says, as though Jensen's going to start arguing with him again. “I mean, he gets sick? Or fuckin' injured? Not shit we can do about it, man. We're not his parents. Not his legal guardians. Can't sign a permission slip. Can't do shit for him, ya know? What if he decides to do some stupid shit with some friends? Just stupid kid shit that draws the wrong attention? We can't get him out of trouble. He gets sent away, just like,” he snaps his fingers for emphasis, “that. We just,” Jared releases the hair he's been holding away from his face and shrugs his massive shoulders, “we can't.”

“So what do we do, then?” Jensen asks, and hates how small his voice sounds. “Call the police?” It still sounds as harsh as it did when Danneel suggested it, but after Jared's in-depth explanation, Jensen's not sure there's much more they can do.

Reaching his hand out, Jared hooks his fingers through Jensen's belt loop and pulls him forward, dropping a kiss on his lips easily before shaking his head. “Not really our call, man. I mean, the kid's dad left him with Lindsay, who left him with Chris. Ultimately, it's his decision, I think.” 

“He's stayin' here tonight,” Chris reiterates his earlier statement as he steps back through the kitchen door. “Think y'all can maybe keep it down in here? Kid's a minor, not deaf,” he adds with a scowl that makes Jensen blush and Jared roll his eyes. “I'm callin' Big Dave in the morning. See what he thinks before we head out. Nothin' else, we'll just take him with us to Texas, drop him at my momma's house.” He shrugs his shoulders like it's all settled.

Big Dave is Chris's affectionate nickname for the band's lawyer. He handles contracts for the band, as well as serving as booking agent and financial adviser. He's also one of Chris's best friends, and if Jensen's honest, he's probably the best man for the job of figuring out what to do with Brayden. Why no one thought of him sooner is probably a testament to the alcohol consumed tonight, that or the emotions running high and tight enough to suffocate the room.

“Might wanna call him 'fore you take off,” Jared suggests, draining what’s left of his beer before he pounds the bottle onto the counter. “Pretty sure it's not legal to transport a minor across state fuckin' lines without expressed written permission from his legal guardian. Get your ass arrested for kidnapping and I ain't bailin' ya out,” he winks, smacking Jensen's ass as he pushes past and heads into the bathroom.

Chris just watches Jared go and then turns back to Jensen. “What the hell's up with Sasquatch?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

Jared's loveable, most of the time. In fact, he's pretty irresistible, even to those who jump to immediate conclusions based on his appearance. He's been compared to an overgrown puppy more times than Jensen can count, albeit usually by Jensen himself. In public he’s stoic and a bit intimidating, but Jensen's pretty sure the kid's never met a stranger. Undoubtedly, it's the reason Jared's so popular among the industry elite, why he gets flown to the middle of fucking Nowhere, Idaho because some rock star has a spur-of-the-moment need for ink that only Jared can provide. 

So maybe Chris is right to question why their normally-affable friend is acting all level-headed and, well, mature on this night, especially when he was licking salt off Jensen's neck and drinking shots from their resting place in Sophia's cleavage a couple of hours ago. That directly preceded Jared shaking his ass on the picnic table and stripping down to his boxer briefs for singles. If anything, he usually gets more crazy the longer he drinks. 

“This whole thing cuts kinda close to home for him,” Jensen explains as vaguely as he can. Chris still gets it, if the way his eyes widen are anything indication. “Says we can't take Brayden, but I'm kinda thinking he just doesn't want to,” he adds, catching his full bottom lip between his teeth. 

He won't say more, feels like it would somehow be betraying his boyfriend's confidences if he did, but Jensen's got a working theory. Seeing Brayden, hearing his story via Chris, is rehashing a lot of memories that Jared's been pretty skilled at pressing down for the better part of a decade. Having the kid in their house would make it impossible for him to pretend that his life before now didn't happen. If there’s one thing Jensen knows about Jared, it’s that he's happy to live in the now, with no need to dwell in the then. Well, that and the kid fucking _loves_ a good rim job.

As if conjured out of Jensen's thoughts, Jared re-appears, spinning his keys on his finger. “You ready to bolt?” he asks, expression furrowed and concentrated.

Jensen just nods, pops into the living room to say good-bye to Steve, and then waves at Chris before following Jared's path out the back door. When Jared tosses him the keys, Jensen stands in the driveway and stares at his boyfriend. “You okay?” he asks over the hush of the night air.

Expression confused, Jared pulls the passenger door of his truck open and nods. “Fine. You?” Jensen just flips him off and is almost laughing at the Jaredness of the response when he climbs into the cab. “Think you can make it home in ten?” Jared's voice is pitched low when Jensen slams the door behind him.

It's easily a twenty minute drive from Chris's place to theirs, and Jensen quirks an eyebrow at the question. “Dude, you just pissed,” he nods toward the house through the windshield.

But Jared's hand creeps over his thigh, and Jensen’s not sure how how he spans the distance so quickly, but it doesn't much matter when his lips find that spot right behind Jensen's ear and he whispers, “You got ten minutes before I lose my mind completely and have to fuck you blind. So either make it home, or we're doin' it on the side of whatever road you happen to be on at the time.” He sucks the spot where his lips are resting and then pulls back, completely withdrawing to his own side of the cab.

They make it back to the house with fourteen seconds to spare, all thoughts of Chris and his predicament left far, far behind.

*

Jared is not a fan of being watched. It happens a lot, being as he spends a not-small portion of the time hanging out with rock stars and actors, and being twelve feet tall and covered in tattoos, but it’s still weird. 

He’s just a kid from Texas who happens to be artistic. That talent has led him down a road he never imagined, but he’s just kind of following the path, wherever it may wind and lead. He knows that people stare at him, unsure of who he is most of the time, and sometimes unsure of what he is. He gets it, sometimes he even craves it, but he never really likes it.

Well, okay, there’s one time when he likes it. When Jensen is the one watching him, Jared doesn’t so much mind. His life has never really been stable, sometimes by chance and others by Jared’s own design, but Jensen is the anchor that tethers him to the world at large, the one thing that makes the uncertain kid from Texas feel like he’s found a safe place to just breathe.

Rolling his head against the pillow without opening his eyes, he mumbles, “What time is it?” 

“Nine twenty-three,” Jensen answers without missing a beat, the pads of his fingers brushing over Jared's cheek as he chases stray hairs back from his cheek. 

Jensen hates mornings, maybe more than anyone Jared's ever met. He literally hates the sun for rising, hates opening his eyes and rolling out of bed, if he bothers to do it in that order. Jared's pretty sure, if daylight could be punched in the neck, Jensen would do it. It's actually a fairly rare occasion when he's coherent before Jared in the morning.

Running his tongue over his sleep-dried lips, Jared leans his face further into the contact, arm tightening around Jensen's back. He wonders, not for the first time, why Jensen's the only person who's ever been able to fall asleep on Jared's arm without his arm falling asleep right back. With anyone else, it's always been uncomfortable to wake up all tangled like this, but with Jensen it's never bothered him. If he believed in shit like karma and signs and destiny, he'd think it means something. As it is, he's resigned it to one of the mysteries of the universe that's never actually meant to be solved.

As much as Jensen hates mornings, Jared's always kind of loved them. He's not rolling out of bed at five thirty or anything – usually because he hasn't even dropped into bed by then – but he likes the quiet that comes with the start of the day. Usually, when Jensen's asleep, the lights are out, and Jared can brew coffee, sit on the bedroom balcony, just enjoy the feeling of the day waking up with him. 

This morning, though, he's exhausted. His limbs are heavy, his muscles ache, and there’s the faintest hint of a headache around the corners of his brain. Jumping from drunk, to emotional, to completely fucked-out kind of took it's toll on Jared, and he's pretty sure he'd like to just stay in the bed all day, no clients, no interruptions. He might kill a man to spend the entire day with these warm sheets under his back, warm sun through the window, and warm skin draped over him. Jensen's not usually hard to convince for days like this.

“TJ,” he mutters, and it's so soft he thinks maybe he just thought it in his head, instead of actually saying it out loud.

“When?” Jensen counters and Jared loves the way he doesn't have to use full sentences for Jensen to understand him. He'd given up on the kind of relationship they have long before he ever met this graphic designer from Dallas, but something in his chest just fucking knew the day Jensen walked into his shop with Chris that it was something. He didn’t know what then, but he knew it was something.

“Tonight,” Jared answers, limbs still refusing to move, even when Jensen dips his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the top of Jared's bicep. He's always kissing Jared in weird places, and Jared's never really been one to complain. It feels more intimate, like it's just something they do. Nobody else gets it, and he likes that about it.

“Kay,” Jensen agrees easily, moving his kisses to the underside of Jared's bare arm. It tickles when his morning stubble brushes the sensitive skin, but he's too drained to flinch or pull away.

Yesterday was just too much, with the emotions and all of the bull shit that Jared didn't want to think about, still doesn't want to think about. Even though he knows damn well that Jensen gets why he suggested running away, that he understands exactly what it means, Jared needs to get away. He needs to escape, just for a little while, to bring himself back to center again.

The bungalow that they bought on the beach in Tijuana last year is the perfect place. Mexican heat, sandy beaches, and naked Jensen. Jared's pretty sure there's nothing else he needs in the world as much as he needs that right now.

The blasted ringing of phone interrupts their quiet moment, so Jared begins an internal plan regarding how many appointments he has today and how he can shift them around while Jensen reaches to answer it. Tomorrow's pretty much clear, if he remembers correctly, and Chad and Sophia can handle the walk-ins. They're a man down now that Steve's out on tour, but they can manage without Jared for a day or two. He's pretty sure he won't be much good anyway, if he doesn't get some relaxation.

When Jared finally pulls himself out of his head, finally drags his eyes open, Jensen is sitting beside him, leaned against the headboard, staring at nothing and nodding his head in concentration. Also, he's naked, which is pretty much all the invitation Jared needs to roll onto his stomach, drag himself over Jensen's thigh, and reach out to grip the base of Jensen's half-hard cock. 

Jensen's eyes fly wide open at the contact and he shakes his head furiously when Jared looks up to meet his eye. Don't, he mouths, but Jared doesn't listen. Jared never listens. He continues studying Jensen's beautiful face with a wicked gleam in his eye as his tongue darts out to drag over Jensen’s dick, so warm and full against his lips. 

How he has the presence of mind to cover the mouthpiece of his receiver before he moans, Jared doesn't know, but Jensen does it, head thrown back against the wall and eyes squeezed shut as Jared quickens his pace. There'll be time for slow, languid fucking in Mexico. For now, he wants to see Jensen fall apart in record time.

Jensen won’t actually fall apart, though. It's kind of impressive the way he retains his composure while getting head and talking on the phone at the same time. Last week, he was on a conference call with Tom, his business manager, and a couple of big-wigs from Macy's. They've been trying to broker an exclusive deal to sell a line of Jensen's tee shirts nationwide, and while he would never admit it, Jared knew that it was a big deal to Jensen. He could tell by the tension in his posture as Jensen paced the length of his home office and spoke in short, clipped sentence to everyone who addressed him.

Wanting nothing more than to be helpful, Jared crossed the office, dropped to his knees, and unzipped Jensen's pants. It was startlingly similar to this morning, actually, with Jensen warning Jared to stop and Jared ignoring it completely. It took Jensen all of five seconds to bite his lip and collect himself then, lowering himself into a chair and answering questions as though nothing was happening on the floor between his thighs. 

Even when Jared took him deep in the back of his throat, Jensen managed to convey something about maintaining total artistic freedom. He was silent when he came, hot against the back of Jared's throat, and all Jared could do was sit back and marvel as he wiped his lips and drew a wink and a fucking pet on the top of his head from his satisfied boyfriend.

Yeah, Jensen's a freak in the bedroom most of the time, turns Jared out in ways nobody else has ever been able to, but when it comes to getting phone head, Jensen is a motherfucking pro. It probably turns Jared on more than it should. More than he ever though it could, that's for sure.

The blunt fingernails scratching at Jared’s skull and the slight movement of Jensen's hips are the only things that really tip Jared off to Jensen’s awareness of the situation. Without that, he might think that Jensen didn't even notice Jared's lips around him, or feel his tongue tracing that pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. If he didn't feel Jensen's fingers tighten in his hair as he got closer, Jared's not sure he would believe that Jensen was really there with him at all.

“So it's just,” Jensen finally speaks, fingers tugging at Jared's hair more insistently as he narrows his eyes to focus on whatever the caller is saying in his ear. “I don't know, man. Sounds too fuckin' easy, ya know?” He comes, eyes drifting shut for a fraction of a second before he licks his lips and grins at Jared like a million evil thoughts of revenge are running through his head all at one time. “Guess it pays to have friends in high places, huh?” he adds to his conversation, foot traveling up the back of Jared's thigh, toe tracing the crashing ocean wave tattooed there.

Resting his forehead on Jensen's stomach, Jared takes a second to enjoy the feeling. Jensen knows him, has him memorized. 

Every design on his body, Jensen can trace without looking. Every ridge of every muscle, his tongue could map blind. He's never met anyone, in all of his twenty-six years, who has ever wanted to take the time to know him the way Jensen knows him. It's unnerving and exhilarating all at one time. Whether it's walking through the door and not having to explain his shitty day because Jensen can see from the look on his face that he doesn't want to talk about it, or Jensen telling Danneel to lock up behind her when she closes the store, just because Jared walked through the door of Ollie with a _need you right the fuck now_ expression, Jensen just seems to know.

When he finally clicks his phone shut and drops it onto the bedside table, Jensen clutches Jared's shoulder until their eyes meet. “Get up here,” he chuckles, pressing his lips eagerly to Jared's as Jared engulfs Jensen’s body with his own. “You're gonna fuckin' kill me some day, man,” he laughs.

Jared would apologize, but he’s not at all sorry. “That was Chris?” he asks.

Nodding, Jensen lets Jared kiss his neck as he relays the information. “Big Dave knows some judge in juvie court that granted Chris emergency guardianship this morning. Owed him a favor or somethin', I guess. Just means that, while they search for the kid's family or whatever, Chris has the court's permission to act on his behalf.”

Jared knows what it means, but he doesn't bother pointing that out. It’s mostly because Jared doesn’t want to talk about it. “This judge know Chris's bailin' town?” he asks anyway

Jensen shrugs, and Jared would maybe wanna smack the stupid out of him, if he wasn't so fucking happy laying right where he is. Sure, it's great that Dave has some family court judge in his back pocket, works out nicely for Chris's conscience or whatever, but it doesn't make the situation any better. It just means that one more person in Brayden's life is taking responsibility for him, and then passin' him off on somebody else so they don't have to do the real work. 

For some reason, Chris has decided to be the white knight in this situation, but Jared has a feeling his, and Jensen's, new save the world mentality is a little too lacking in the actual application of anything resembling reality. He’s not even going to bother trying to tell either of them that, though, because they wouldn’t bother listening. Also, he meant what he said when he told Jensen that he doesn’t feel the need to save all of the abandoned kids in America.

“Where's he gonna stay, Jen?” he asks, praying that Jensen doesn't take that as some kind of crazy offer. 

It’s a thousand kinds of wrong for either of them to start thinking they have any business whatsoever taking care of a child. He just hopes Jensen doesn’t ask him to list those reasons because the only ones he can come up with at the moment are a.) they’re going to Mexico tonight, b.) the cleaning lady hasn’t been by in a couple of weeks, and c.) there is a string of anal beads and a Fleshlight on the kitchen counter. 

There are more reasons, but those are the most obvious at the moment.

“Tom's gonna take him,” Jensen says, voice starting to drift away like he can finally rest easy now that he knows the kid's going to be alright, like everything all better now. 

“Jamie okay with that?” Jared asks of Tom's wife, who Jared thinks deserves a medal for the patience she has in dealing with years of her husband's less-than-discreet indiscretions. Well, a medal or a swift kick in the ass. It's kind of a toss-up. 

Jensen shrugs again and his hands leave Jared as he scratches over the tattoo on his own left pectoral. Last year, for their anniversary, Jared etched his own zodiac sign, cancer, onto Jensen’s body. He has a pisces in the same place, Jensen’s sign. He was never supposed to be the guy who tattooed anything having to do with another person anywhere on his body. He was never supposed to be a lot of the things he is with Jensen.

“According to Danneel, they're not speaking right now. I guess her walking in and actually seeing Mike sucking Tom's dick wasn't exactly a welcome visual,” he huffs.

Jared can feel his face contort at the mental image Jensen has just given him. “Can you blame her?” he asks, rolling off of Jensen and propping himself up on his elbow. “Anybody who lets Rosenbaum anywhere near their dick deserves to get kicked the fuck outta the house.”

Jensen's laughing as he burrows back down into his pillow. He'll relax now that Chris has convinced him that the world isn't going to end. He likes to pretend his a tough guy, Jensen does, but where his friends are concerned, his heart is about four sizes too big. They’re not touchy-feely guys but, if pressed, Jared would admit that Jensen’s fierce loyalty to the people he cares about is one of the things he loves most.

Of course, Jensen’s technique when his fist closes around Jared’s still-hard cock is pretty high up the list, too. He didn’t actually forget that he didn’t get off when Jensen did but, with all the talk about the kid and whatnot, it didn’t seem like the ideal time to ask for a return favor. His boy never leaves him hanging, though. It's another constant in the relationship between Jensen and Jared. 

“So,” Jensen starts, easy as anything, as though he's not jerking Jared in long, lazy strokes that are about to drive Jared out of his mind. “TJ tonight, huh?” 

Jared nods, lip caught between his teeth as he tries to focus. He's not as good at the multi-tasking as Jensen is. 

“We should take the bikes,” Jensen goes on, a rough growl on his lips when Jared's head falls back. “Whatcha think, Jay? You, me, couple thousand CC's rumbling between our thighs?” 

“Fuck, Jen,” Jared breathes, unsure of whether it's the words Jensen is saying, or the timber of his deep, smoke-tinged voice that affect Jared so strongly.

“Yeah?” Jensen leans forward, closes the gap between them and presses his lips, open and wet, against the column of Jared's exposed throat, teeth raking over the skin just the way Jared loves it. “It's gonna be so good, Jay,” he promises. “Feel you up all the way to TJ, get you all hot and hard for me.” 

When Jared risks opening his eyes, Jensen is watching him with heated focus, tongue running over his own lower lip. “What, er, when, ugh, get there,” he tries to engage, but Jensen's got him so close to the edge, he's not sure what he's trying to say. “Jesus Christ, Jensen,” is all he manages to with any degree of clarity as Jensen begins to thumb the head of his cock in lazy circles, staving off Jared’s orgasm while simultaneously chasing the pleasure even higher.

“What am I gonna do to you when we get there?” he asks the question Jared couldn't seem to spit out and Jared just clenches his eyes tightly and nods, his forehead brushing against Jensen’s shoulder. “Wanna strip you down on the deck,” he explains. “'Member that railing you built last summer?” Jared's only response is a whimper. “Yeah, wanna bend you over that railing, Jay. Start fuckin' you all slow and lazy while the tides roll in.”

He thinks he's going to be able to hold off, to wait until Jensen describes more, but then Jensen changes the rules. He squeezes his fist, tugs firm and hard on Jared's dick while his lips find that spot behind Jared's ear that drives him insane. “Come on, Jay.” Jensen shifts his hips, their bodies mere inches apart. “Wanna feel you come,” he adds.

Like Jared's going to be able to do anything else?

Heart pounding against his ribs, Jared waits until he can breathe properly before opening his eyes to see Jensen staring down at him. Of all the times he loves being watched by Jensen, this has to be his favorite. The adoration and pure awe in Jensen’s eyes as he watches Jared shaken completely apart is maybe the most beautiful sight in the world. 

“My last appointment should be over by six. Can you . . . “ Jared trails the word as Jensen dips to kiss him quickly and then rolls to the left to slip out of the bed, the tattoo that Jared chose for their first anniversary low on his left hip. It's probably a pretty cheap gift for a couple of guys who make as much as he and Jensen do, just choosing a design and the placement of a new tat to mark another year together, but it's far more personal than anything Jared can buy in a store, and Jensen seems to appreciate them, so maybe it's not so bad.

“Staff meeting at 4:30, and then I'm out,” Jensen wiggles his eyebrows before heading into their en suite bathroom. When Jared hears the shower start, he breathes deeply and lets his eyes fall shut once again. 

Just a few more minutes, and then he'll get up. He’ll work for a few hours, make sure the crew has everything together at the shop, and then head back to pick Jensen up. A little R&R in TJ and everything will be A-OK once again. Life will be zen and perfect, just like it was before the clock struck midnight and flung everything out of order last night.

*

Jared met Chad upon arriving in LA, almost immediately. Both drifters in their own right, they gravitated to each other in the way that only a yin and a yang truly can. When Jared found out that Chad was a pretty wicked graffiti artist, and that he desperately wanted to learn how to tattoo, he'd done his best to give the kid lessons. When he bought Slinging Ink, it was only natural to start employing the people whose work he knew, and whom he trusted.

When he learned how to tat back in high school, it was just supposed to be an outlet for him. Artistic expression gave him a place to channel his teenaged angst and anger. It was never really a way out of anything. In fact, if anyone had told sixteen-year-old Jared that he would some day make a living tattooing rock stars and painting pop art for actors, he would have laughed in their face, or punched them in the mouth. Dumb luck and a whole lot of chance led him to this place, but he's going to sneeze at it or anything.

Chad was at the party that night. The night that kicked everything off for Jared. When some kid at some kegger said he wanted a tat, Jared offered to do it for him. He had a few basic supplies in the back of his truck, and he set up at the kitchen table. It was probably illegal and slightly unsanitary, but the result was pretty fucking incredible, especially given his limited resources.

That kid turned out to be the younger brother of some bass player in one of those punk/pop bands that all sound exactly the same as every other band on the charts right now. Big brother was Jared's next client, and then the rest of his band. By the end of the summer, he's pretty sure he inked up the whole of the Warped Tour, instructing Chad every step of the way.

Growing up as Jared did, he doesn't spend a lot of money frivolously. Most of the time when he and Jensen fight over anything, it's the fact that Jensen can't save a dime to save his life, and Jared would rather hold on to his cash with both hands than ever let it go on something he doesn't need. Jensen's theory is that money is worthless if it's just sitting in a bank with no purpose. Jared's philosophy veers more toward the belief that you never know when you may hit a patch of bad luck and find yourself living out of your car. Back up is very important.

It was his frugal way of saving cash that allowed him to buy Slinging Ink at the age of twenty-one. When he was hired on, at nineteen, the owner was working by himself and garnering little-to-no business. Jared brought his small base of high”ish”-profile clientele and turned revenue around, but it wasn't enough to keep the previous owner interested in running a place that he was clearly no longer in charge of, so he offered it to Jared. It wasn’t cheap by any means, but Jared started his own business before most kids his age were even out of college.

He brought Chad in for a couple of reasons. One, he's Jared's best friend. What twenty-one-year-old kid doesn't want to work every day with his best friend? And two, his background in graffiti and airbrushing make him one hell of a script artist. He can handle basic design as well as Jared can, and he manages to run interference when Jared won't admit that he needs a break. Chad's employee of the month, every month, and nobody really questions it. Mostly because Chad's the only one who refers to himself as such, but still, Jared can't disagree.

A few months after joining up with Jared, Chad asked if he could bring his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Sophia on board. When Jared saw her portfolio, he hired her without hesitation. She is, bar none, the best portrait artist he's ever met. Kat Von D has nothing on Sophia Bush, as far as Jared's concerned.

Almost a year after they opened, Jared ran into Steve at music festival. Somehow, talk turned to the rising reputation Jared was building for himself, and how Steve would love to rent some space and set up shop at Jared's place part-time, if the kid didn't have a problem with it. He's not technically an employee, being as he pays rent and sets his own hours, but he's just as much a part of the team as anyone now. His expertise lies in nature – birds, fish, flowers, etc. - and it's only fitting, seeing as he belongs on a beach in Hawaii somewhere, sipping Corona with his feet tucked in the white sands while he strums some hapless melody on his beat-up old guitar.

After that, it became pretty obvious that they would need some help keeping things organized, so Jared called a temp-to-hire agency for a part-time receptionist. Sandy McCoy was an aspiring actress back then. Now she's Jared's full-time business manager, and he has to admit that thing runs smoother with her at the helm than they ever did when he was trying to keep it all in order.

“Gen,” he nods toward the newest member of their team as he enters the shop.

She’s a tiny brunette named Genevieve who's been a loyal customer since Jared took her ink virginity two years ago. She answers phones, sets up appointments, and most importantly, makes coffee and lunch runs when things get a little too crazy inside the shop. She's been a Godsend, really, and the fact that she greets him every day with a smile and a caramel machiatto from the coffee place down the pier doesn't hurt her standing with her boss one bit.

“Hey, Jay,” she nods, extending the coffee cup without so much as a glance away from her computer screen. “PCD in twenty minutes. Something little – told her Chad could handle it – but she insisted.” Her mouth pulls into a grimace as she tears her eyes away from the screen. “And Brock called.” 

Jared can't help smiling at the way she winces. Everyone in the shop knows that Brock Kelly has been pretty much stalking Jared since they met at a party a few years back. He's nice enough, and he's pretty subtle, but it's still kind of obvious to the entire team that he wants more than Jared's ink on his body every time he comes in for a new piece.

“What's he lookin' for this time?” Jared asks, crossing the room to drop his keys into the drawer at his station. Truth be told, Brock bothers Jensen more than he bothers Jared. The kid's nice enough, and he’s sure as hell easy on the eyes, but Jared barely noticed before Jensen came into his life. Since then, Brock's a moot point. 

“You want me to answer that honestly?” she asks, eyes glinting in amusement as Jared shakes his head good-naturedly. “Shoulder piece,” is the answer she settles for, swinging around on her bar stool and propping her combat boot-clad feet onto the counter. She twirls a streak of candy-apple hair around her finger and considers it thoughtfully before going on. “I told him that you were booked today, but he said he'd just stop by later and drop the sketch off for you to look over.”

Jared just nods, takes it all in stride. Not much rattles him these days, and he thinks it's probably the reason his team likes working for him so much. “You sure I have a PCD this morning?” he questions her earlier statement once his brain wraps around the schedule for the day. He doesn't remember that being a part of the agenda. Not that he really cares what appointments Genevieve makes without asking him first, just as long as the last ass is out of his chair by six.

Genevieve shrugs her thin shoulders. “I think it's a PCD. One of those lip-syncers who gyrates around with her tits hangin' out,” she answers easily, so easily that it makes Jared laugh.

The Pussycat Dolls have been faithful clients of Jared's for years. They started coming in when Sandy was working with the troupe, and haven't stopped, regardless of the formation, since. He doesn't mind them, but they grate on Genevieve's last nerve. Pretty much any hot chick that would rather pay more attention to Jared than Genevieve grates on her nerves, though.

“Kimberly,” Sandy supplies the name as she steps out of the back room, a steaming bowl of microwaved soup in her hand. “What's with this text you sent me this morning?” She holds up her blackberry, as though Jared forgot sending her a message.

“Headin' down TJ way tonight,” he explains as he checks his ink wells and makes sure that his glove supply is ample for the day. He never really doubts that it will be; Sandy takes good care of him. “Chad and Soph are gonna handle walk-ins, but make sure that anybody who asks knows I'll be back on Thursday,” he instructs.

“TJ, huh?” Sophia's smokey voice filters into the room just before she does, also carrying a Cup o' Noodles in her hands. “I want a night in Mexico with my hotter-than-fuck-all boyfriend.” She fakes a pout and then smiles when Jared winks his greeting in her direction.

Genevieve snorts and goes back to her computer screen. “Too bad the only boyfriend you have is Chad then.”

The girls laugh and, as if summoned, Chad comes blowing through the door in a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses. This is Los Angeles in fucking September, but no one will ever convince him that the look is excessive. “What's funny?” he asks as he cuts through to the back of the studio, stopping to drop a kiss on Sophia's head as he goes.

“You,” Sophia answers innocently, sipping at her cup.

He just grunts and dumps the jacket, keeps the sunglasses, and sinks into his chair. “There coffee?” he asks.

They all know he drank way too much last night – they were all at Chris' to witness it – and that he'll be an ass most of the morning. Chad doesn’t do hungover very well at all. 

“Here,” Genevieve grins brightly, hopping off her stool to deliver his drink. She's not Chad's biggest fan, but she's chipper as anything when he's like this. It’s mostly to piss him off, Jared thinks, or probably completely to piss him off. When Chad reaches for the cup, Genevieve holds it out of his reach and her smile brightens. “Only if you say please.”

“What if I say I'll punch you in your throat if you don't hand it over right the fuck now?” Chad manages with a fake smile that stretches ear to ear.

Genevieve is actually the one who does the punching, hard into Chad's right shoulder as he reaches out to take the coffee she's offering. He scowls, but says nothing, as he sinks further into his chair and cradles his cup with both hands.

“So what's the deal with this kid Lindsay dropped off after we left?” Sandy asks when everyone's settled in for the day.

Jared's back stiffens at the mention. He really needs that night away. 

“Fuck if I know,” he answers, massive shoulders shrugging as he tries to play it cool. “Her ex left his kid with her and took off. Some judge Dave knows granted Chris ETG and he's gonna stay with Tommy until Chris can figure out what to do with him, I think,” he explains as quickly as he can, hoping that's going to be the end of the discussion. He'd be happy never to think about it again, actually.

“What's ETG?” Genevieve asks innocently, back at her computer. She spends most of her day chatting with gamers and Sci-Fi movie fans online, but she does her job and that's really the only thing that matters to Jared. She can watch porn on mute all day as long as he doesn't have to answer the phone and schedule his own appointments.

“Emergency Temporary Guardianship,” Sophia explains before Jared has to. “That's fuckin' quick, Jay. I mean, it's been, what? Twelve hours?” Jared just shrugs again and bends his knees to lean against his station. “I don't know, man. Is that even right? Can they do that? Legally?” 

Again, Jared shrugs. He's seen stranger things in his lifetime and he knows, from experiences he doesn't really want to talk about, that certain judges can be easily convinced to come down on any given side, regardless of what the law, and a medical report from a board-certified surgeon, says. He has no doubt that legally, Chris is Brayden's guardian for the time being. He also knows that he's gonna have a hard time staying that way if anybody bothers to ask a few questions and find out that he's not actually the one caring for the kid.

“Dani said the kid looked skittish as a bunny last night,” Sophia goes on. She befriended Danneel quickly, almost immediately upon meeting her at the first joint party of the Slinging Ink crew and Jensen's Ollie kids. The fact that Danneel has already filled Sophia in on everything from last night isn't surprising, just annoying.

“Looked like a kid,” is his only response because he wasn’t paying that much attention when Brayden showed up last night. The kid basically went from the back door to the bathroom to the living room. It's not like they had a lengthy chat and Jared doesn't make a habit of staring at twelve-year-old boys.

But as much as he wants to drop the subject, Sophia seems intent on keeping it rolling. “I just don't get it, ya know,” she sighs, kicking back in her chair to rest her feet on her station. “This whole abandoning your kid thing? I can't wrap my head around it. I mean, how do you sleep at night when you've done something like that?”

Jared blocks her out fairly easily. He's become adept at ignoring what's going on around him in this place. It's just him and the ink and the client. Has to be, or someone will end up with a seriously fucked up piece of art. Still, it's an uncomfortable nagging in his brain, knowing that they're all still talking about the one thing he just wants to forget.

“You'd be surprised what people are capable of,” Sandy chimes in, sipping from her cup of soup as she leans one trim hip against the counter.

Sophia shakes her head, the shiny auburn catching the light as her hair moves around her shoulder, an expression of disgust on her dainty features. “No, I know,” she agrees with her friend. “I'm just sayin’. It's just. It's not right.”

Just as he's about to let them all know where they can stick this stupid conversation, Chad proves exactly why he's Jared's inequivocal bff.

“MY GOD!” he exclaims from his chair in the corner. “Can we please stop with this bull shit? It is too fucking early in the goddamn morning to contemplate social injustice! Jesus Christ!” Nobody bothers to point out that it's nearly noon. For Chad, anything before three is too fucking early in the goddamn morning.

The girls look like they're about to tell him just where he can stick his bad mood, though, when Jared clears his throat and looks up from the impressionist art book in front of him. “Don't you guys have something to do?”

“Like what?” Genevieve asks, her tone leading as though she's just begging Jared to take part in this conversation. 

Rolling his eyes, Jared refuses the bait. “Like whatever the hell it is that I pay you for?” 

But Sophia just clucks her tongue and shakes her hair again. “Relax,” she commands with a wave of her hand, and Jared kind of wishes it was just that easy to do so. “This work we do? It's very serious. It requires serious mental preparation. So we're, ya know, prepping.”

He can't really help the snort that escapes through his nose at that. “Preppin' my ass,” he mutters under his breath.

“Think that's Jen's job,” Chad points out as he gulps down another long swallow of coffee to a feminine chorus of groans and eye rolls.

Jared just flashes his friend a smile. “Cute,” he says, though it's more than just a word. It's a silent thanks to the kid who always knows him well enough to know when a conversation needs to just die and get buried as fucking deep as it possibly can.

*

“So, we're gonna need Mike to handle any incoming custom work between now and the Macy's deadline. Jensen's sole focus has to be on the line between now than then,” Tom explains, blue eyes darting around the store room of Ollie's pro shop. Or, rather, his eyes are darting back and forth between Danneel and Jensen. He’s basically ignoring Mike’s existence altogether, which is a thing he does way too often when he’s feeling guilty about the things they do together in the dark.

Jensen feels the tension in his shoulders and, not for the first time, thinks that Jared's idea to head to Mexico for the night is maybe the best one the giant lug has ever come up with. They need it, both of them. Not just for them, as a couple, but for both of them as individuals. Neither of them has ever wanted to be part of corporate America – wouldn't be very punk of them, after all – but being business owners takes it's toll sometimes, especially now that Jensen has agreed to design this commercial line for Macy's.

“I've got, like, three weeks, Tommy,” he reminds his friend with a shrug, nibbling on a stick of string cheese Danneel passed him when the meeting started.

Tom rolls his eyes, as though Jensen is a simple child. It’s no way to treat his boss, but Jensen doesn’t say anything. The truth is, if Jensen didn’t act like a simple child most of the time, he wouldn’t need a business manager like Tom in the first place.

“You have exactly zero sketches, Jensen,” he points out. “Twenty-one days. That’s it. Twenty-one days to come up with a thirteen piece line.”

“Twenty,” Jensen corrects him distractedly, pulling at one of the strings of cheese and staring at it with fascination. When Tom makes a confused sound, Jensen lifts his eyes from the food to the man standing before him, looking not at all unlike Jensen's father used to when he caught his teenaged son drawing flaming skulls on his English term paper at the kitchen table. “I'm out of the office tomorrow,” he explains with a brief shake of his head.

“What? Why?” Tom doesn't add the obligatory 'why wasn't I informed', but it's evident in his tone. 

“He's having steamy mansex on the beach in Mexico,” Danneel explains, typing away at the buttons on her blackberry. Jensen's pretty sure she's texting Mike, who is sitting immediately to her right, but he doesn't say anything because, well, he doesn't care.

Tom's eyebrows raise like someone pulled them on a string inside his skull. “You're going to TJ? On a Wednesday? For one day?” His voice climbs like it's the most asinine thing he's ever heard.

“Yeah,” Jensen answers with an easy shrug. It's not the first time he’s taken a day trip with Jared in the middle of the week. They all know that it's kind of a signature.

“How in the hell do you just up and go like that?” Tom asks, his voice climbing back down from the octave it rose a second ago. “No planning or anything, just,” he makes a weird upward motion with his hands, “up and go?”

“Oh, come on, Tommy,” Danneel cuts in, eyes raising from her blackberry with a vicious glint. If her voice wasn't already dripping with artificial saccharine, Jensen would know from the look in her eye that she's about to say something less-than-kind. “You're plenty spontaneous,” she adds, her head tilting to the side like a curious, mischievous puppy. “I mean, just look how many times you've ended up with your dick in Mike's mouth with no warning whatsoever.”

Jensen stands from his stool and rests a hand on Danneel's shoulder. “That's enough,” he warns, as seriously as he can. She’s right, but it’s drama he doesn’t want to deal with right now. Who his people fuck is their own business, maybe their friends’ business, but when it’s interfering with Ollie business, it’s off-limits. It’s basically Jensen’s only rule.

“What?” she asks, wide, angelic eyes searching Jensen's face for signs that she's done something wrong.

Before Jensen can answer her before Mike's soft voice inserts, “Just let it go, Dani.” She tries to argue, but Mike leans back on the table they're sharing as a seat and nudges her with his shoulder. “You know I love you, but just. It's not,” he stops and risks a glance in Tom's direction, only to find Tom's eyes darting back to the folder in his massive hands. “Drop it.”

“So, starting Thursday, no interruptions,” Jensen cuts the conversation off by returning to the subject of the staff meeting. If he has a prayer of getting out of here and getting home to Jared by six, he needs to hurry things along. 

Tom's cell phone rings and he bustles off to answer it as the bell dings over the front door. Danneel scurries off to help the customer, leaving Jensen alone with a crest-fallen looking Mike in the back room. It's a disturbing sight, being as Mike's rarely ever less-than-spastic. 

“You okay, Mikey?” he asks, offering the guy half of his cheese.

Mike accepts it with a weak, hollow smile. “Like water off a duck's back, Jenny,” he feigns his devil-may-care tone, but it's seriously flat and not-at-all convincing. “Better off without all that bull shit anyway.”

It's true, but Jensen's pretty sure Mike doesn't believe it. “That you talking? Or Dani's script for what you're supposed to be telling yourself?”

“Doesn't make it any less true,” is Mike's answer as he stands and rubs his hand over his head. When he claps his hand on Jensen’s shoulder, there’s a look in his eye that is hard to define, almost like longing. “Have fun in TJ, yeah?” he says, in a tone that says he wishes he had someone to blow off work and take a random day trip with.

If it’s all the same, Jensen wishes Mike had that, too.

He's a good guy, Mike is. Sure, he’s a little crazy sometimes, and wholly inappropriate always, but good. He deserves better than a married closet-case who only acknowledges him when he stops pretending that he's not queer as a three dollar bill, and then goes right back to pretending that Mike's nothing more than a pair of lips and some fingers. Though he'd never say it – not in a million years, upon threat of death – Jensen kind of hopes he finds better some day, that Mike finds his Jared. 

“Why don't you get outta here,” Jensen suggests in lieu of any real emotional discussion. It would only make Mike more uncomfortable, and Jensen's not exactly jonesin' for a heart-to-heart, either. Better to just let it roll. “Nobody's callin' in orders this afternoon, and Tom can handle the park kids until closing,” he goes on. “Go home. Get some sleep. You look like hell in a trash bag.”

Mike's grin is infectious as he squeezes Jensen's shoulder. “You're so good to me, Jenny,” he mocks.

Jensen nods and turns sincere eyes to his friend. “I really am. Too good. Some day, I'll wake up and realize it.” He points to the door and then looks back at Mike. “Go.”

“Thanks, man,” Mike says, a little more seriously this time, and it's all Jensen can do not to roll his eyes. He would do this do it for any of his friends who needed a little down time to decompress and get their heads together. 

Hell, it’s exactly why he and Jared are getting away tonight, after all.

*

“Ya know,” Jared's voice breaks through Jensen's thoughts as he stares at the bag in front of him on the bed, “I know you think you have this amazing mind, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to magically start throwing things into the bag just because you stare long enough.”

With Jared’s hands on his hips and chest against his back, Jensen collapses into his embrace. “Body of a god and a sense of humor, too?” Jensen asks, dripping sarcasm from every word. “How did I get so lucky?”

The rumble of Jared's laughter reverberates through Jensen's body as Jared dips his head to suck at the junction of Jensen's jaw and neck. “I don't know,” he echoes in sincere agreement. “You must be special or somethin'.” 

With a laugh, Jensen sends an elbow back into Jared's stomach just hard enough to be playful. “You don't get off me, there's no Mexico.” he warns. “There's you, me, this bed, and some handcuffs I haven't bothered to bust out in a while, but there is no Mexico.”

Jared takes a step back, and that's when Jensen hears the soft clink of metal-on-metal. Turning his head, he sees Jared drop said handcuffs into his own bag and his only response is to wink when he meets Jensen's eye. “Seriously, man? We need to get on the road. Now.”

If the words _I am in violent agreement with you_ have ever applied to any situation, it's this one. “A'right, fine. Give me two minutes." He holds up his fingers to illustrate his point as the front doorbell rings.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Jared growls in frustration, throwing his arms in the air in a sign of defeat. “Seriously? I just wanna get the fuck outta here!”

Rolling his eyes at the childish dramatics, Jensen pulls Jared's mouth to his for a quick kiss, but Jared stops him from leaving. “Be nice,” Jensen warns and Jared just flips him off as he heads out of the bedroom.

By the time he hears Jared’s heavy boots on the stairs, his shouted curses echoing through the halls, Jensen abandons the packing and sneaks into the hallway. It’s entirely possible that this will turn bloody and Jensen will need to be nearby to phone for help or something.

It's not a huge house, the one he and Jared bought together last year. Maybe it's a little bigger than the pair of them need by themselves, but the view of the ocean is spectacular, and there's plenty of room to host all of their friends, and a few of their plus one's to boot. Plus, it has a fucking theater. Jared loves that theater.

Jensen peeks around the corner at the top of the stairs to see Tom standing opposite Jared and his breath catches just a bit.

.Jared doesn't have a problem with Tom usually, though he’s made it clear that he thinks Tom’s actions are pretty reprehensible when it comes to Mike. Of course, Jared wasn't exactly “Boyfriend of the Year” before Jensen came along, either, so Jensen doesn’t know where Jared has room to judge.

“Hey, Tommy,” Jared greets, leaning easily on the door frame. 

“Hey, Jay. How's it' goin'?” Tom asks, blue eyes wide and hopeful. He's going to ask for something. Jensen can feel from here that it’s going to be something Jared doesn’t want to give.

“What's goin' on, man?” Jared asks, obviously forgetting to give any fucks to pleasantries.

“Jen home?” Tom asks, predictably.

Jared just nods. “Yeah, he's packin',” he answers.

Tom's eyes fly wide, and fill with what can only be described as guilt. “Oh, shit. TJ,” he gasps. “I totally forgot, man,” he apologizes and all but confirms Jensen’s suspicions.

Before things have a chance to go south, Jensen makes himself known, running down the stairs and popping up behind Jared’s shoulder, hoping to hell the hand on Jared’s back will keep him calm.

“Hey, Tommy,” he greets.

“Jen. I totally forgot about TJ,” Tom repeats what he just said to Jared while Jared storms back up the stairs, hopefully to finish Jensen’s packing for him. 

With a shrug, Jensen takes Jared's place in the doorway. “What's up, man?” 

He just hopes this doesn’t take long. Jared's been tense all day, and now that they're behind schedule, he's twice as jumpy. It’s weird how neither of their lives run on a schedule except when they’re heading out on a trip. When traveling, Jared has this time table that has to be strictly adhered to, like he can’t wait to get the fuck away from his life and escape it all, as though his real life is so suffocating.

“Jamie wants to talk,” Tom says and Jensen can't help smiling.

As bad as he feels for Mike, as much as it pisses him off to see Tom treat him the way that he does sometimes, Tom is still his friend. If he wants to reconcile with his wife after his one hundred and whatever-eth indiscretion, Jensen can be happy for him. It's kind of Jensen's nature to see everyone around him happy with their lives.

“That's great, man,” he nods enthusiastically.

“I know, right? We're having dinner in,” he checks his watch, “about an hour.” 

Jensen's pretty sure Tom didn't drive fifteen minutes out of his way to tell Jensen that he's reconciling with Jamie. “Rock on,” he nods his agreement.

Tom shifts his weight from one hip to the other and runs his fingers through his hair again. This is where the favor comes in. “Yeah,” he says. “Thing is, I can't really take Brayden to dinner with me, ya know?” 

Jensen's stomach drops. No. Not now. This can't be happening now. “He's twelve, Tom. It's not like he needs a babysitter for a couple of hours.” His voice is flat, even to his own ears, and he knows he has to wrap this up before Jared comes back down the stairs.

“He's also a stranger,” Tom points out, as though even Jensen wouldn't think of leaving the kid alone in his house when he doesn't know a damn thing about him.

Except that Jensen would leave Brayden alone. For a couple of hours anyway. If he was living here, Jensen would leave him with plenty of video games and pizza money to keep him busy while he and Jared went to a club or a bar or just out for dinner. He wouldn't think twice about it. And it makes him wonder if Jared hasn't been right this whole time. Maybe he really never did have any business thinking he could look after a kid.

“What do you want from me, Tom?” he asks with resignation heavy in his tone. 

“Can you just,” Tom hesitates and his eyes turn hopeful once again. “It'll only be a few hours, Jen. Please, if you could just watch him for a few hours? I can't . I mean, I don't wanna ditch him, ya know?”

Tom's his friend, but he's also a manipulative bastard. Jensen's pretty sure that he's using words like 'ditch' just to make him feel more guilty. The bitch of it is that it's working.

“We're leaving in three minutes,” Jared butts into the conversation, his tone saying that conversation is over. _Thanks for stopping by. Don't let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out._

“Jay,” he starts, trying to keep his tone as even and reasonable as possible. 

But Jared's response is pretty damn definitive. “No, Jensen,” he shakes his head, and Jensen can see the tension in his neck, the way he's fighting to keep himself from exploding in front of company. “No,” he repeats for effect.

“Jay, man, come on.” Tom probably thinks he's helping his cause, but Jensen can see in Jared's eyes that he isn't helping anything at all. “It's just a couple hours. Then you can be on the road to Mexico same as before. I'm just asking,” he stops and turns wide, innocent eyes that belong nowhere near a man who routinely cheats on his spouse, to Jared. “I'm just asking for a little help in saving my marriage here.”

“Fuck you, Welling,” is Jared's angry response. “You wanna save your marriage, stop sleeping with men every other fucking week, okay? It's not our fucking job to save the motherfucking world, Jensen!” 

Why he's getting yelled at when he hasn't said a goddamn word, Jensen doesn't know. He does, however, know that he doesn't like it. He and Jared don't fight a lot, but when they do, it's pretty messy and loud and ugly. Outside of Chad and Chris, none of their friends have really seen it, and Jensen's pretty sure Tom's wishing he wasn't on the exclusive list at the moment. 

“Why don't you settle the fuck down there, Sasquatch,” he shoots back in the face of Jared's outburst, noting that something flares in Jared's eyes. It's that thing that always pops up when he's backed into a corner, when he feels trapped, like he doesn't have a choice and he really,really doesn't like it. “It's not like we can't afford a few more hours,” he goes on.

“No! Ya know what? I am all for helping our friends when they need it, but when these fuckers take advantage of it? All bets are off! We are always the ones to sacrifice so they can do whatever the hell they want, man, and it's not our fucking job, okay? It is not our job to save Tom's marriage, and soothe Mike's ego, and bail Chad's ass out of jail. It's not our job to fix Chris's whole fucked up family! And it is sure as shit not our job to put our plans on hold to play house with some fucking kid we don't even fucking know!”

His breathing is ragged and labored by the time he finishes, face red. Jensen doesn't really know what to say. The one thing that he's always loved more than anything about Jared is the fact that he's as sacrificial and loyal as Jensen is when it comes to their friends. How long has he been harboring these feelings of resentment? How long has he been going through the motions, letting Jensen believe that he doesn't mind when he clearly does.

It doesn't piss him off that Jared's upset, or even that he's yelling. They've fought dirtier than this on more than one occasion. What does piss Jensen off is the fact that Jared's obviously been keeping something from him and he's choosing now, in front of someone else, right before a vacation, to vent it. 

“Ya know what? Fuck you, Jared! Fuck you!” Jensen crosses the distance, leaving Tom at the door, paralyzed. “I don't know what the fuck is up your ass about this whole damn thing, but fuck you! I'm so sorry that my wanting to help our friends is such a fucking burden to you, you selfish son of a bitch! But I am not sorry that I give a goddamn about my best fucking friend in the world, or about this kid that doesn't have a goddamn choice, okay? I'm not sorry that I fucking care, and I'm not sorry that I want to help. I don't have to. It's not my fucking job. I choose to. 

“Because my friends? That's all I've got, Jay. That's all we've got. Nothin' else, man. You know that! All we have is our friends!” Fuming, Jensen points to the back door. “So you can either take your ass to TJ and fuck yourself on the beach, or you can stay here with me and Brayden,” he issues the offer bitterly, practically spitting it at his boyfriend. “Either way, my ass is stayin' here!”

Jared's lip curls into a smirk at the ridiculous notion and then he scoffs when it becomes clear that Jensen's not joking.

The thing is, Jensen gets it. All day Jared’s been waiting to get on the bike, get on the road, get to Mexico with Jensen. All day, he's been thinking about this escape, this vacation, from reality. And now the one thing that made him want to run away in the first place is fucking everything all to hell. Sometimes shit happens, though. Sometimes things change.

“Hope you and the kid have a great fucking time,” Jared hisses, rolling his eyes and he pushes away from the wall and stalks out of the house, the door banging even more angrily on his exit. 

Tom waits until the bike's tires squeal out of the garage and down the driveway before offering Jensen a weak smile. “Thanks, man,” he starts.

But Jensen puts his hand up to stop his friend. “This is for Chris, man. He is the only person on planet fucking Earth I would pull that shit with Jared for. Not you, not Dani, not my own fucking mother.” Raking his fingers through his spiked hair, Jensen heaves a sigh and glares at Tom. “Get the fuck outta here 'fore I change my mind and chase him.”

Nodding wordlessly, Tom returns to his car and Jensen takes a moment to thank whatever muse inspired him to call the cleaning lady on the way to work this morning. And when Brayden appears on the porch as Tom's backing out of the driveway, he thinks about how fucked it is that Tommy couldn't even be bothered to accompany the kid to the front door.

Without so much as an introduction, the kid's just left on the porch and it punches Jensen in the gut. “Dude, get in here,” he tells the confused-looking boy, standing there with a backpack, staring at his shoes.

Brayden shuffles over the threshold and doesn't bother looking up when Jensen asks what he wants for dinner. He suggests Thai, pizza, and burgers from the bar up the road, but all of them illicit the same shrug and a whispered, “whatever,” from the kid.

Once Jensen's ordered the burgers and requested delivery, he motions for Brayden to follow him into the rec room. “You like video games?” Brayden nods. “You always this quiet? Cause, ya know, I coulda sworn I heard you talk last night.”

Brayden blushes a bright pink and looks at his hands again, not bothering to take his bag from his shoulders as he sinks to the edge of the couch. Jensen takes the chair and they sit in an awkward silence until the food comes. 

Throughout dinner, which Brayden devours like he hasn't had a decent meal in the last month, they both stare at the floor. The sounds of chewing and the creaking of Styrofoam containers are the only sound, apart from the slurping of straws and the scraping of fries dragged through ketchup.

Once he's thrown the trash out, Jensen comes back into the rec room and stands in front of the kid still perched precariously on the edge of the couch. “Alright, look, you're here for the next couple of hours, so this whole silent treatment thing isn't really gonna work for me.” Though he doesn't raise his head, Jensen can see Brayden's eyes narrow as he focuses on the floor. “Fuckin' Jay.” 

He's not really sure why he's cursing his boyfriend's name or what it has to do with this moment, but Jensen can't help feeling like Jared would know what to do with this kid. It’s not just because Jared knows what it feels like to be abandoned, but because Jared always knows what to say to people. His talent might get him in the door with big-wigs and high-profile personalities, but it's Jared's own charm and ease that throw those doors wide open. He just knows what to do. 

He’s only been gone forty-five minutes, but Jensen wants him to come back. He hates fighting with Jared, more than he hates vegetables and family holidays he's no longer invited to attend. It makes him feel off-kilter, like the world is on its ear and he doesn't know how to right it. 

“Sorry.”

Brayden's apology is mumbled so softly that Jensen almost misses it. When he looks up, the kid is staring at the floor again, his hands clenched tightly around the straps of his back pack. “What are you sorry for?” Jensen asks, oblivious.

“Everything,” Brayden answers after another long silence. His knuckles are white against the bag and his face is blazing with embarrassment.

Jensen doesn't consider himself overly-emotional. He's not stoic, but he's certainly not gushing with an abundance of emotional displays, either. Still, something about the way this kid is basically apologizing for his existence grips him just the wrong way and makes him want to punch the asshole who left him square in the fucking jaw.

“Brayden,” Jensen starts and then stops himself. “Look at me.” He's obeyed immediately and without hesitation, the boy's blue eyes wide and filled with something that looks like fear or anxiety. Sinking back into the chair, Jensen holds his hands out and tries to appear as relaxed as possible. This kid will mistake his anger toward his father as anger toward him, and that's the last thing Jensen wants, or needs. “None of this shit is your fault, okay?”

“I know,” he mutters almost inaudibly.

Standing, Jensen walks to the television and sinks to the floor, rearranging chords and controllers. “We don't scare easy, okay? Me and my friends, we pretty much live on horror films and hangovers the fucking devil would wince at, ya know?” Jensen laughs and shakes his head, noting that Brayden is following his every move. “But you? You terrify the holy shit outta us, man. Cause you're, you're like this not-fucked-up person, and the rest of us? We're a fuckin' train wreck.” That's the best explanation he can come up with on short notice and he hopes it makes sense, but when he extends a controller Brayden just considers him curiously. “We gonna play or what?”

He's well aware of how many f-bombs he just dropped in front of a middle school-aged kid, but Jensen doesn't fucking care. He decided a long damn time ago that he would never, ever compromise who he is for anybody. If he can teach this kid anything in the two hours that he's in charge of his well-being, it's going to be that. Be who you are and don't fucking apologize for it.

By the time his phone rings in his pocket, Jensen's lost all track of the hour. So it's kind of a shock when he realizes it's after midnight. “Dude, where are you?” he asks Tom.

“I'm,” Tom stops and Jensen thinks maybe he's crying? “It's over, man. We're over.”

“Whoah. What?” Jensen drops his controller and Brayden shoots him an inquisitive look before reaching over to pause the game. Shaking his head, Jensen covers the mouth piece with his hand. “Go ahead and play without me,” he offers, standing and walking from the room. “What do you mean it's over?”

“Well, apparently, I'm gay,” Tom announces, as though it's news to him. 

“Well, no shit, Einstein,” Jensen countered without thinking. Really? Tom's the only person on the planet who is possibly surprised by this revelation.

“I just . . . I don't know what to do, man. I feel lost,” Tom goes on. Rambling. Like his brain hasn't quite caught up with his lips yet. “Can you. Look, I know I promised it would only be a couple of hours, but do you think you could-,“

“Yeah, sure, of course. Just,” Jensen casts a glance over his shoulder and then back when he's sure that Brayden's engrossed in the game. “Get some sleep, okay? I got it covered.” He wants to suggest Tom head over to Mike's and just be with the person he's supposed to be with, but he's not sure that's the best idea. After everything Mike's endured, he's not sure Tom will make him happy like he thinks he will. He's not sure Tom will ever really be happy at all.

He doesn't know why, but he really doesn't want him looking after Brayden right now, either. He can't even form a coherent sentence and Jensen's pretty sure he's less-than-sober. Keeping the kid overnight seems the like the least that he can do. Besides, it's not like Jared's going to be around to bitch about it.

He disconnects the call and turns back around, shoving his phone in his pocket. “So,” he starts and Brayden hits the pause button. “You're crashin' here tonight,” he goes on and Brayden nods, like he was pretty sure that was going to happen anyway. “And since you have school tomorrow, you should probably save that game and we'll pick it up later, okay?”

He doesn't argue. Doesn't say a word as he saves the game and then eases off the floor, reverting four hours, back to before he and Jensen were actually talking and laughing and having a pretty good time. He moves with practiced ease to the couch and sinks into the cushions.

“What are you doing?” Jensen asks dumbly.

“Bed time, right?” Brayden asks, as though it should be pretty obvious what he's doing.

“Oh, whatever, dude. I don't know if you noticed when y'all pulled up earlier, but this house is kinda big. We have a guest room. More than one, actually.” He motions for Brayden to follow him out of the room and tilts his head slightly at the wide-eyed look of pure astonishment he gets from the kid. “Don't tell me all these fuckers you been stayin' with didn't bother to give your a damn bed to sleep in.” A shrug is his only response. “Jesus, it's like I'm friends with fucking animals. Come on, Kid. You're not sleepin' on the damn couch.”

Once he's shown Brayden to his room, Jensen heads back down the hall to his own bed, more exhausted than he's been at twelve thirty in what feels like a lifetime. He knows he's doing the right thing, letting Brayden stay with him for the night. He knows it was the right move to take him off of Tom's hands for the night, especially now that Tom's in whatever headspace he's in.

But as he tosses and turns and waits for sleep to settle over his exhausted limbs, Jensen can't help wishing he was in that bungalow with Jared. He wasn’t particularly longing for a trip to Tijuana or anything, not like Jared was at least, but he doesn't remember the last time he fell asleep without Jared's body beside him, or his voice in his ear over the phone, at the very least. It's not supposed to be like this, and not even getting a good night from his boyfriend feels wrong somehow. Off. 

He's toyed with the idea of calling, or even texting, but when Jared's upset about something, he doesn't just get over it. If Jensen knows his boy at all, he knows that Jared needs some time to get his thoughts in order. There's so much more at work here than just Jensen agreeing to watch Brayden, and Jared needs to figure it out. 

He's not naïve enough to believe that Jared will talk to him when he does get it sorted out - He's not a 'caring and sharing' kind of guy - but he'll calm down and Jensen will know that everything's okay once he gets his carefree, easy/breezy boyfriend back.

Until then, he's pretty sure he's not going to be sleeping at all.

*

There's a reason Jensen likes to stay in bed until well into the morning, or early into the afternoon. California's not exactly frigid in the mornings, but the thick blankets wrapped around his shoulders feel like a cocoon that he's not willing to ever withdraw himself from ever. Or, at the very least, until he absolutely has to.

If he believed in fate or destiny, he would have believed that he and Jared were meant to be the first morning they woke up together. See, Jensen loves his covers way too much to be any good at sharing, and Jared is kind of like his own heat source. He barely covers himself with a sheet most nights and still manages to radiate more warmth than the blankets themselves. He lets Jensen have all of his covers, and they both wake up well-rested and happy with the arrangement.

It takes him a few minutes to realize that he's not alone in the bed when Jensen wakes up on Thursday morning, a few more to feel the arm draped over his stomach, and just a few seconds to comprehend the steady fall of breathing against the back of his neck.

“You're here,” he mutters, eyes still squeezed shut as he burrows his face into the pillow and his hip into Jared's thigh. 

The only response he receives is a grunt and the press of Jared's lips against his shoulder.

It's the only explanation he'll get, and Jensen knows it. The only thing that really matters is that Jared came back some time during the night, which means he probably spent a total of twenty minutes in TJ, if he ever made it to the border in the first place. Chad has a surf shanty down in San Diego, and it's far more likely that Jared parked his ass on the sand floor, drank a Corona, and then came home.

He probably wasn't thrilled to find Brayden's shoes still sitting by the front door when he stumbled in, but one thing at a time.

Jensen bolts upright in the bed and lets out a string of curses normally reserved for the moments just before he shoots off. “Brayden!” he finishes his litany as he rolls out of the bed and pulls his jeans on, stumbling out of their messy bedroom with another whisper of curses.

The guest room bed is made, albeit not so tidily, and there is no sign of the kid anywhere.

“Motherfucker!” Jensen calls out, turning back down the hall and running down the stairs. It's kind of a wonder he doesn't end up on his face in a heap at the bottom.

Brayden's shoes are gone from the front door and it's pretty obvious that the kid left at some point. Whether it was during the night, or the morning, Jensen's not sure. 

What is it that everyone's been saying from the get-go? Letting the kid stay with them is a bad idea? Clearly, his friends all know a shitload more than he does. 

Jared's making his way lazily down the stairs, scratching his bare belly and carding his other hand through his disheveled hair. “You need to calm the fuck down,” he advises, smile of amusement on his lips.

“Calm down?” Jensen asks, his voice edging toward completely hysterical as he pulls at the short spikes of hair atop his head. “You want me to calm the fuck down? How in the fuck am I supposed to do that, Jared? Chris is gonna fuckin' kill me! I didn't even leave the house and I managed to lose the damn kid!”

Jared's eyes dance as he stops on the third step and leans his shoulder against the wall. “You didn't lose anybody,” he assures Jensen, whose eyes only double in size, if that's even possible. “Sandy took him to school a couple hours ago,” he adds.

The adrenaline and the panic don't really slow down as Jensen shrieks, “Why the hell would she do that?”

“Because I asked her to?” Jared says, all zen and calm in a way that pisses Jensen off. He continues past Jensen and through the entry toward the kitchen. “It's a whole long fuckin' thing, man, but Tom went to Mike's last night, and Mike called Danneel, who told Sophia. Chad called me, and I was already on my way back, so I just called Sandy and had her pick him up.” He shrugs as if it's no big deal.

And finally, finally, Jensen lets himself breathe. “Y'all knew I was gonna fuck it up and oversleep, didn't you?” Jared just shrugs, reaching for two coffee cups from the cabinet. “Man, I don't know what I was thinkin', but you were right. We have no business takin' care of a kid,” he shakes his head, guilt swimming in his gut at the fact that he would be totally sunk, were it not for the fucked up phone-tree of friends that they share.

“Actually,” Jared says, turning to lean against the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on his fingers before returning to Jensen's face. “I was thinkin' about it. About the whole thing, and I think,” he stops and shakes his head, smiling in that easy way that only Jared can really smile. “I don't know, man, maybe it's all fucked up. Maybe we can only fuck the kid up more than he already is, but,” he stops and leaves the statement hanging, waits to see if Jensen catches up to the sentiment.

He does, and he's shaking his head vehemently. “No fuckin' way. It took me two hours, a hell of a lot of take out, and a video game marathon not even you would sit through just to make him talk to me. I'm not about to live with that level of awkward on a daily basis, okay? And the whole 'forgetting about him while I sleep' thing?” He swallows hard, and can feel his eyes growing wide at the sheer ridiculousness of this whole, fucked-up situation. “That's not good, Jay. Not to mention the panic when I thought he ran away! Fuck that shit, man. I ain't cut out for this shit, and you don't wanna be, either. Just,” he stops and shakes his head. “Fuck it all.”

Through Jensen's entire tirade, Jared just sits back and watches. His eyes are saying _I told you so_. But, in a move that will surprise Jensen until the day he dies, Jared’s words say something else, a whole lot of something else in fact.

For the next hour, he lays it all out, everything he was thinking last night, everything that made him come home again.

He talks about how he spent his adult life convincing himself that his past doesn't define him, that who he was has no bearing on who he is. He's tried to pretend, for the better part of the last ten years, that it doesn't matter that he grew up without ever really knowing his birth parents, that the only person who ever showed even marginal interest in him was the older son of one of his foster parents who taught him how to tattoo. He laughs when he says he kind of ended up teaching himself anyway, being as the kid was high off his ass and talking about how aliens were going to come back to Earth and save us all from Satan some day most of the time.

He explains that he has always needed to believe that none of that bull shit matters, that it never really did. He likes to think he's above it, and he's moved beyond it, and that being the random, mostly unwanted, house guest with a different bunch of strangers every few months had nothing to do with shaping him into the guy he is now. That the kid they all thought he was is nothing but dirt on the shoe of the guy he has become.

Jensen sits through it all, stunned that Jared is opening up like this, but more heartbroken at the tale he’s weaving, at the thought that anyone could meet the man Jensen loves and not be one hundred percent besotted with him as well.

“I was doin’ about 120 down the five last night, right?” Jared finally says, chuckling to himself again. “And I just realized that everything about the way I came up contributes to who I am now, ya know? Everything I wanted to become, everything I wanted to prove I could be? That’s all wrapped up in the way people saw me back then.”

He uses words like _nuisance_ and _inconvenience_ and _trash_ , and Jensen shatters a bit with each adjective, but he sits quietly, waits Jared out.

“I was never the kid they wanted. Nobody gave a fuck what I was up to as long as I stayed out of their hair and let them collect their government checks, right? Even when I tried to be in the way, I wasn’t. It’s like I was invisible.”

It makes so much sense, so much fucking sense, to Jensen. Jared got tired of not being noticed, of nobody asking how his day was or how his grades were. He got tired of nobody caring if he didn’t take a shower for a week, or if his jeans were too short. He got tired of disappearing.

The tattoos make him visible. Even if people are scared of him, they definitely see him. Hanging out with celebrities ensures that he'll be seen. Even if nobody really knows his name and he's always credited as “. . . and friend,” his reputation is out there and people in high places recognize it. Though it's kind of a coincidence, hanging out with a group of people who are all shorter than he is also solidifies the idea that he can always be found in the crowd, that anyone can look up at any given moment and know exactly where Jared is.

“I’ve always known it,” Jared says, looking across the island in the kitchen, smiling at Jensen. Jensen smiles back because, honestly, how can he not? “But it was so fucking clear last night because of you.”

“Me?” Jensen asks, jolted from his own thoughts by the accusatory way Jared says it.

“It’s always you, asshole,” Jared confirms, but it doesn’t sound like an insult at all. “You never say a fucking word about my past until I’m ready to talk about it and then you just sit there and fucking listen to everything I say, even if I’m just fucking whining about some shit I can’t even change. You said that it’s not our job to be there for the people we love, but it’s our choice to do it anyway, even though we don’t have to. I don’t know, man. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s alright to care about something, about someone, outside of our own comfort zone, I guess.”

Jensen just stares at him, blinking but not really processing what he’s seeing.

Jared doesn’t show that he cares about much, outside of art and fucking. Now Jensen is wondering, though, if that little boy locked away in the darkest parts of his psyche isn’t running his life, convincing him that caring about anything makes him that much more vulnerable to losing it. He wants to spend hours more talking about this, delving into Jared’s head, learning everything about him, because fuck knows when Jared will give him another chance.

But Jared is already done, it seems. 

“Option one,” he says, matter-of-factly, “Tom takes him back. Great, except that Tom’s wife kicked him out and now he’s staying with Mike for the time being. And I think you and I both know what a great situation that’s going to be for the moment.”

Jensen's face scrunches at the thought of Mike and Tom actually trying to co-habitate.

“Option two?” Jared raises another finger. “Sophia's pretty sympathetic to the kid, so I could probably get her to agree to take him. But she lives with Chad most of the time, and he's, like, the king of indescretion. Also, he has no qualms about offering alcohol to minors and taking embarrassing photos of them when they do stupid things like pass out with their faces in his dog's dishes.” Jensen opens his mouth to speak, but Jared just shakes his head. “Don't ask me, ask the high school girls at the pier.”

At this information, Jensen's eyes double, horrified.

“Option three? Um . . . Sandy? Danneel? Either or.” He rests his arms back against the counter and inclines his head as he considers this one. “Both good choices as far as maternal and organized, but really? We both know neither is going to be comfortable letting a hormone-laden junior high boy in their house. Even if either of them could kick his ass into next week if he ever tried anything.”

Jensen's brain runs through the options Jared has laid out so far. Danneel, Mike, and Tom are all out, which eliminates his own staff. Chad, Sophia, and Sandy pretty much take care of Jared's crew, too. “Genevieve?” he names the only one they haven't mentioned.

Jared shakes his head. “She'd probably chain him up in the back yard like a puppy and maybe take him for walks on the weekends. Besides,” he smiles fondly, “There's a pretty good chance she'd try to turn him into either a pot head or a lesbian, and I'm not entirely sure either is the way to go.”

Jensen shakes his head slowly. “So what you're telling me is that you and I are the best hope this kid has of surviving unscathed until Chris gets back?” He huffs a laugh. “The world is a fucked up place.”

“Oh, we're not,” Jared smiles, reaching out one long arm to draw Jensen into his personal space. “Mike and Chad are pretty much the only worse options than you and I in this whole scenario. We're just the most circumstantial choice at the moment.”

Circumstantial choice? Jensen wants to laugh, but instead presses his hand to Jared's mouth. “Stop talking,” he instructs, stretching onto his toes to make better use of Jared’s lips.

*

Technically, they're supposed to be in Mexico. Even though everyone knows that Jared and Jensen are still in town, they don't bother going to their respective offices. The whole point of taking a day off was to unwind and spend a little bit of uninterrupted time together, after all. Being as they're going to let Brayden stay with them for an undetermined period of time, Jensen kind of figures they need to get as much noisy, nasty, dirty sex in as they can before he gets home from school. They can’t exactly fully utilize half the shit in the box under their bed while there's a kid sleeping down the hall.

“I'm goin' to the grocery store,” Jared announces upon entering Jensen's office, dressed only in a pair of khaki shorts and flip flops. 

Jensen looks up from the sketch he's been half-heartedly working on since Jared passed out an hour and a half ago. Kid just can't hang sometimes. At least, that's how Jensen teases and prods him into another round most of the time.

“You know, they require shirts there,” he points to Jared's bare chest and can't help smiling at the bite marks and bruises dotting his skin. “I know it's been awhile since you stepped inside one, but-,“

Jared just flips him off and pulls a white tee shirt from the back of his shorts. “I was gonna ask if you wanted anything specific, but fuck it now, man. You're eatin' what I buy.”

Which means that he'll be dining on frozen dinners and whatever candy Jared wants for the next however long, but Jensen's okay with that. He's not really a picky eater, and it's not like they won't end up ordering in or grabbing something on the way home anyway. “Make sure you get cereal or some shit for breakfast,” he reminds as Jared turns to leave the room. “And maybe some vegetables or somethin'? Those are s'posed to be good for kids, right?”

Jared’s shoulders are shaking when he stops short in the hallway. “D'you just tell me to buy vegetables? Seriously? You?” Jared looks over his shoulder and catches his lip between his teeth. “Man, look at ya. Less than twenty-four hours and this kid's already got ya whipped into eatin' your broccoli. It's cute.”

Jensen throws a pencil across the room and Jared catches it easily. No satisfaction in that. “Go,” he points to the door and then back to his paper. “Be a good little housewife while the man of the house finishes his work.” Barely glancing up from his sketch, Jensen adds, with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Think about brushin' your hair, too, wouldya? Wouldn't kill ya to put a little effort into bein' pretty for your family, ya know?”

Jared's growl is all that precedes him crossing the room and spinning Jensen in his chair. “You think you're funny, don't ya?” Jensen just leans back and smiles the most shit-eating of grins. “Fucker.”

“Yeah? Again?” Jensen asks, his hands trailing over the back of Jared's shorts as he moans into the kiss being dropped on his lips. Before things have a chance to go too far, though, he pushes Jared back and nods toward the door again. “Go if you're gonna go. He's gonna be back in a few minutes.”

With a resigned sigh, Jared stands. “Alright, fine,” he sighs, allowing his shoulders to sag as he slinks back toward the door. “You should probably clean the kitchen 'fore Soph brings him back, though.”

“What? Why?” Jensen's never cleaned a kitchen in his life. Why the hell should he start now?

Jared just shrugs and taps his fingers against the top of the door jamb as he calls back over his shoulder, “Cause I'm pretty sure come stains on the floor are almost as traumatic as finding us fucking in your chair, dumbass!”

With a groan, Jensen lets his head fall back against his chair when he hears the door slam shut. They have a system, dammit. When it comes to sex, Jensen's in charge of cleaning accessories and Jared's in charge of cleaning locations. Jensen doesn't mop the floors because Jared decides to go buy their live-in house guest some fucking fruit roll ups. That's not the way it works.

His cell phone rings as he's elbows-deep in dishwater, trying to clean up the mess he made while cleaning up. “Yeah?” he barks into his blue tooth, only to hear a crackle and a pause on the other end. “What the-,” he stops when a slow, Southern drawl comes through the line.

“Can you hear me, man?” Chris' voice is there, like he's standing right beside Jensen.

“Now I can,” he answers without a greeting. He doesn't need it with Chris. “Where are you, man? Still in Vegas?”

They talk about the tour for a few minutes, about the show and how Steve lost his place in a song last night because he was too busy flirting with some chick front row, stage left. Jensen thinks Chris sounds a little jealous, but he knows Chris well enough to know he'll never get an admission out of him, so he doesn't say anything. 

“So,” Chris finally leads the conversation in the direction he intended the call to go, Jensen's pretty sure. “I talked to Tommy today.”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods. 

Chris is quiet for a minute and Jensen's pretty sure he's going to tell him not to be an idiot. That he's in no shape to care for a child. Instead, he chuckles. It's an easy Chris sound that reminds Jensen of home in the best possible way. 

“You sure, man?” Chris doesn't mention the fight they all overheard the other night, but he doesn't really have to. Jensen knows what he's getting at. “Cause, I mean, I know it's not exactly makin' shit easy at your place.”

Jensen shrugs his shoulders and tosses the dish towel onto the counter. What time is Sophia supposed to be bringing Brayden by again? He thinks the kid gets out of school at three, but it could be three thirty or four. Or two fifteen, for all Jensen knows. “It's cool, man. You know I got your back, right?”

“I owe you one,” Chris says, voice intense and serious. “I mean, I barely know the kid, but I feel like we owe it to him, ya know? Like I do.”

He may play 'tough as nails' to most of the world, but Jensen knows the kind of commitment Chris feels to his family. Lindsay may be a ginormous fuck-up of epic proportions, but she's Chris's little sister, and that means something to him. Jensen doesn't come from a family who gets him, or even wants to, but Chris loves his. And even if he doesn't get it, he kinda loves the guy for it.

“It's cool, man. I mean, it's only for a couple weeks, right?” There's a long pause on the other end of the line and Jensen feels his heart speed up. They might be okay with Brayden staying until the end of the month, but longer than that is probably going to be a problem. “Chris?”

“Yeah, man, just a couple weeks,” Chris finally answers, but his voice is pretty much tipping Jensen off to something and he says as much. “I don't know. I mean, I've been talkin' options with Dave, and I'd have to postpone a couple shows to come back, but I'm thinking about filing for permanent guardianship.”

“Which is convenient for you, Chris,” Jensen says without thinking. He's not bitter, really. It's respectable that his friend wants to help but his friend is also criss-crossing the country and leaving the rest of them to actually take care of the kid he wants to adopt. “Being as you're wherever the fuck you are.”

The silence that follows is thick with tension and Jensen hears another crackle. “Man, I know it's a lot to ask, and I'm not making any definite decisions just yet, but I'm just puttin' it out there as a possiblity, ya know?”

Jensen knows there's no point in arguing the matter any further, and he finds that he really doesn't want to. Instead, he says, “Look, I'll make sure he's all in one piece when you get back, okay? What you do from there is all on you.”

They're still talking about the band's next port-of-call when the front door bangs open and Chad announces his presence with a flourish of both arms thrown wide. 

Jensen all but hangs up on Chris, dries his dishpan hands, and tosses his blue tooth onto the kitchen counter. “The fuck are you doin' here?” he asks, eyebrow raised as Brayden shuffles through the door behind the boisterous loud older man.

“A favor for you, dickweed. Be polite,” Chad snarks in return, grin on his full lips as he nods toward Brayden. “Soph got a last minute tribute for some grieving mother,” he rolls his eyes as though it's the most ridiculous thing ever.

Jensen casts a look at Brayden, who rolls his own eyes at the man who just dropped him off. He can't help smirking at the reaction. “Your compassion is overwhelming, douchebag,” he tells Chad, who just nods like he thinks so, too.

“Where's Jay?” he asks, letting himself further into the house.

Jensen just ignores him and makes his way across the entry to the place where Brayden is fidgeting near the door. “Dude, I'm so sorry about this morning,” he starts, but Brayden rolls his eyes again. 

“It's cool,” he says, unaffected tone firmly in place. 

Something in the tone tells Jensen that it's really not, but Brayden's trying to believe that it is, so he lets the subject go. He doesn’t really have time to offer much else when Jared comes bursting through the kitchen door anyway.

Arms loaded with plastic grocery bags, he moves slowly toward the kitchen island and drops them in a pile, bottles and cans clunking against one another. “The fuck are you doin' here?” Jared mimicks Jensen's earlier question when he sees Chad peering into the empty refrigerator.

“The only thing you got in here's some Reese Cups, dude,” he answers and Jared huffs, rolling his eyes in Jensen's direction and causing Brayden to chuckle at Jensen's side. 

“Get your ass out here and help me carry in the rest of this shit,” he commands.

Another one of those joyful, awkward silences fills the space between Jensen and Brayden and he can't help thinking about last night, when he thought that having Jared around would make things easier. He guesses he was wrong.

“You have homework?” Jensen asks and Brayden just shrugs again. “Dude, you're here for, like, three weeks at least. You're gonna have to give me more than a fuckin' shrug occasionally, okay?” Anticipating the next move before it comes, he holds a finger up. “And eye rolls do not count as an alternative form of communication! Words,” he smiles and Brayden returns the look. “Words are good.”

“I'm stayin' with you guys?” he asks skeptically.

Jensen nods. “That okay with you?”

There's a nod and something that looks like hesitation, but Brayden kicks his shoes off and drops his backpack to the ground. “Can I finish my game from last night?” But he takes off before Jensen can demand he do his homework first, or remind him that Jared brought food. And then he realizes he's about to sound like his mother again, and he's kind of glad that Brayden's already gone.

With a sigh, he heads back into the kitchen to watch Chad and Jared stare at the mountain of food Jared brought home. “You leave anything at the store?” he asks, popping a grape into his mouth from the bunch sticking out of the bag on the end of the counter. Have they ever actually had grapes in their house? Jensen's pretty sure the answer is no.

The easy, trademark shrug that Jared gives him reminds him a little bit of Brayden, but Jensen doesn't say that, afraid it would strike up a conversation he doesn't want to have. “Like I know what the kid likes,” he excuses his actions and leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “I barely know what you like and I been eatin' with you for the last three years.”

Jensen sticks his tongue out and Chad reaches into a bag to withdraw a package of Oreo cookies. “But you do know what I like!” he exclaims, tearing the bag open to stuff two cookies into his mouth before giving Jensen a dirty, black-toothed grin. “You're welcome, ya know,” he nods graciously.

“For what?” Jensen huffs, crossing the kitchen to help Jared put the groceries into various cupboards. There's a better than good chance they'll never find half of this stuff again, being as they rarely ever put anything other than dishes in the cabinets, but it seems like the domestically right thing to do.

“Taking time out of my busy schedule to pick your kid up from school,” Chad says, as though it should be obvious what a saint he really is. “You got milk?” he asks, searching through the bags.

Before Jensen can retort, Jared turns and rips the package from Chad's hands. “Get the fuck outta here, asshat,” he orders. “I'm on vacation. Not s'posed to have to look at your ugly mug 'til tomorrow.”

Chad gapes like a fish out of water, if fish had facial hair and a mouthful of Oreos. “I can't believe I take this goddamn abuse from you fuckers. Shit, try to do a guy a favor,” he mumbles to himself, flipping Jared off before turning and exiting with the same flourish he entered with.

“Do we need to have the conversation about choosing the right friends again, Jay?” Jensen asks when Chad has slammed the front door.

Jared just rolls his eyes and sets a jar of spaghetti sauce onto the counter. “Anyone who considers Tom Welling and Mike Rosenbaum friends doesn’t get to question Chad,” he points out, smiling when Jensen snorts his response.

He doesn't protest when Jared pulls him forward by his belt loops and kisses him, quick and deep. “Do you know how to fix any of this shit you bought?” he asks when they finally part.

Eyebrow shooting up, Jared purses his lips and casts a glance around the mess they've made in unpacking the kitchen. “What do you think are the odds the kid knows how to cook? I'll pay him, so it's not, like, slave labor or whatever.”

For a second, he contemplates not even breaching the subject, but not talking to Jared about something that's bugging him is kind of impossible for Jensen. “You're not actually going to spend the next three weeks calling him the kid, are you?”

Jared winces and pulls back. “Maybe,” is the only answer Jared gives before rolling his hip away from the counter and walking to the door of the kitchen. “Hey _kid_!” he calls out in exactly the way he calls to Jensen from the bedroom to the theater. No house needs an intercom if it's got a Jared Padalecki.

Brayden rounds the corner, sliding on the tile floor in his sock feet, eyes wide in something that looks like fear. Jensen thinks Jared should maybe apologize for putting that look on the kid's face, but he's not about to say it right now.

“You hungry?”

Brayden's eyes dart to Jensen, like he's looking for permission to answer the question, so Jensen nods instead of launching into a diatribe about how Brayden is welcome to speak as freely as he damn well pleases in this house. He and Jared do it all the time, after all. 

When Brayden nods, Jared mimics the gesture and walks to the freezer, pulling a pizza out. “Pepperoni or cheese?” Brayden looks seriously unsure, and maybe still a little scared, but Jared thankfully seems to notice it this time. “How 'bout both?”

“That's great, Jay,” Jensen encourages, noting that his voice sounds a little too happy, and a little too forced, even to his own ears. “And what are you makin' for me and Bray?”

Jared rolls his eyes. “You're funny,” he teases, turning to throw the pizzas into the oven.

Jensen notices Brayden's shoulders relax a little bit, and he lets himself believe that maybe things will be okay after all.

*

Eventually, things even out. 

Jared and Brayden aren't best friends or anything, but at least Brayden stops flinching every time Jared walks into a room. Jared stops waiting for Brayden to snap and try to kill them in their sleep. Jensen's still the middle man, but he thinks it might always be that way. 

So, everything considered, they're in a pretty decent place after a week together and Jensen figures they'll, at the very least, survive until Chris gets home. Of course, it's only when things are going well that the shit can hit the fan in a truly poetic fashion. 

Therefore, it shouldn't surprise him when Jared shoulders his way past a line of customers on a busy Thursday afternoon to rest his hand low on Jensen's back. It shouldn't surprise him when he dips his head and growls, “We gotta go,” with more anxiety than his usual 'we gotta go grab a quickie in the store room' voice.

It shouldn’t surprise him but Jensen's heart rate still kicks up in his chest as he motions Mike over to help Danneel on the floor before following Jared through the store without question. Jared doesn't interrupt his work unless it's important.

“What is going on?” he asks around the lump in his throat.

Outside, stalking back toward his own vehicle, Jared speaks over his shoulder. “You turned your phone off,” like it's the most egregious error on the planet. “You can't just turn your motherfucking phone off, man!”

“Danneel's is on,” Jensen excuses, sliding into the front seat of Jared's car.

“Yeah,” Jared nods, easing the car out of its space. “Except that the kid doesn't live with Danneel, so Chris isn't gonna call her when shit goes down, is he?”

Jensen's not sure if he feels more guilty for turning his phone off or for not considering that this little emergency situation might have something to do with Brayden sooner. “What happened?” he asks, all too aware of the panicky sound of his voice. “Is he okay?”

“Little pissed,” Jared answers, resting his elbow in the open window as he accelerates onto the freeway. “But that's kinda par for the course with Chris,” he adds, eyes flitting over his left shoulder as he switches lanes.

Smacking him in the arm, Jensen grits his teeth. Leave it to Jared to be a smart ass when the situation could be serious. “I meant Brayden,” he clarifies with a roll of his eyes.

And Jared just looks amused. “Oh, now you're concerned?”

“Fuck you,” Jensen snaps, body twisting in the seat to easily face the man at his side. There are times when that profile takes his breath away and then there are times when he wants to knock the nose right off of Jared's face. “You have any idea how much pressure Tom's got me under right now? This Macy's line has to be done in two weeks, Jay. Business is picking up at the store and Danneel's having trouble handling it all on her own, so I'm tryin' to pitch in and help, but it's kinda runnin' me over right now.”

“You want me to cry for you?” Jared asks, sympathetic as a lover should be at just the right moments.

“I want you to stop bein' an ass for thirty seconds,” Jensen shoots back, annoyed and tense. “Just tell me where the fuck we're goin',” he sulks, sinking back into his seat and staring out the passenger side window.

“Kid got in a fight. School called Chris, but they won't release him 'til an adult shows up to get him,” is the only explanation Jensen gets. 

“He start the fight?” Jensen asks.

Jared huffs and rolls his eyes, turning down a residential, tree-lined street that doesn’t look remotely familiar to Jensen. “Fuck if I know what the hell happened, man.”

Jared's car is kind of irritatingly ostentatious, his super sleek, bright red, brand new convertible Jaguar. It kind of screams _I’m an asshole with money and you’re not,_ but it took a whole lot of seduction to convince Jared that it was okay to want something, that it wasn’t a colossal waste of his money. 

Though, to be fair, in the parking lot of Truman Middle School, it’s about a thousand times more conspicuous than it’s ever been.

“Ya know, you coulda just done this yourself,” he points out as they climb out of the car and Jared locks the doors, because that makes sense with a top-down convertible.

Jensen knows he's being a bitch, that he's in a bad mood, but he has so much to do and Jared's not helping by dragging him away for some stupid shit he could have taken care of on his own.

“Oh, no,” Jared laughs and shakes his head, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his baggy jeans. “You're the one that gave that hearty 'we're in this together' speech the other night.”

Pouting, Jensen follows Jared through the parking lot and toward the double glass doors. “Bastard,” he grumbles under his breath. The reflection of Jared's grin in the doors is kind of like seeing sunlight reflected off the Pacific on a bright day. Jensen smiles a little just at the sight of it.

He supposes that, if they’re going to get called into the principal’s office, he doesn’t want to go in without an ally. There is nobody else in the world Jensen wants as his partner in crime, life, and everything else than Jared, even if they’re both stressed out and pissed off.

Inside the main office, they're told to take a seat and that the principal will be with them shortly. Jensen asks if they can just wait it out with Brayden, but the elderly secretary just fixes him with a curt stare and shakes her head.

They’re used to this, actually. Being judged and found wanting by pretty much everyone with a real job and a normal appearance is a daily experience for both Jared and Jensen, but this situation is ten times more fucked than normal, so it takes Jared’s hand on Jensen’s arm to keep Jensen from telling the secretary where she can stick her condescending looks.

“Mr. Ackles,” a jovial-looking, middle-aged man in a cheap suit greets from the small hallways behind the secretary's desk. “Mr. Padalecki. Right this way, please,” he motions down the hall behind him

They follow and find Brayden slumped in one of the chairs. He's not smiling but he’s not really frowning either. He’s just kind of sitting there, staring at nothing, and waiting for his day to be over. Jensen doesn’t actually blame him for that.

“Now, as I told Mr. Kane earlier on the phone, a few of Brayden's teachers have voiced concerns that he's been acting,” the man pauses as he slides into his chair and folds his hands on the desk. His eyes are fixed on Brayden, like he's looking for some sort of crack in the kid's non-existent armor or something. “They feel he's acting out of character lately.”

Jensen looks to Jared, whose expressions are clearly visible on his face. _His dad took off while he was at school one day. He’s been passed around like a hot potato ever since. How the fuck do you expect him to act, asshole?_ To his credit, Jared only clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, resting his hip against the filing cabinet next to the window.

“His homework is not as thorough as it once was,” the principal goes on and Jensen wants to ask why he's acting like Brayden's not even sitting here with them. “His language borders on, and sometimes crosses into, inappropriate.” Neither Jensen nor Jared bother to ask what that means. “And today, he punched another student with no provocation.”

“You sure about that?” Jared asks, and it takes Jensen by surprise. 

He expected to hear that they were terrible caretakers, that they should be monitoring Brayden more closely. He expected that they would get reamed out for whatever happened today, but he thought that they would both just sit here and take it. If he’s completely honest, he thought the school probably called the police and blew the whistle on Chris for leaving Brayden with a couple of chuckleheads who obviously have no idea what they’re doing. 

It’s not new or shocking that Jared is challenging authority now, but it still throws Jensen somewhat.

“Every account says the same thing, Mr. Padalecki,” the principal answers in a tone that Jensen's pretty sure would get him knocked out if he used it anywhere but in his own office. 

Instead of taking the answer at face value, Jared's eyebrow shoots up. “Even Brayden's?”

It's the first time he's said the kid's name and Jensen's not the only one who notices. Though he doesn't look up, Brayden's eyes fly wide and he sits a little straighter in his seat, like Jared speaking his name means something to him.

The principal, obviously not used to being questioned, stammers for a moment. “Well he, when we asked him for his take on the events of this afternoon, he didn't have anything to say for himself.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Jensen exclaims, catching Jared’s eye again, drawing a nod of agreement.

Look, he doesn’t think there’s some big conspiracy happening here or whatever, but it’s shady nonetheless. Jensen has been the outcast long enough to know that the quiet kid who sits in the corner and minds his own business is the first one to get blamed when shit goes down. He’s not sure how long this chump has been working with adolescent boys but he clearly has no idea how they operate.

Jared kicks at the leg of Brayden’s chair. “Bray?” When Brayden looks at him with uncertainty, Jared asks, “You punch this kid?”

Brayden nods, cheeks tinted at the admission.

“On purpose?” Of of Brayden’s second nod, Jared asks, “Why?”

“It doesn't matter,” the principal starts to interject.

But Jared just glares at him and it almost makes Jensen laugh. Most of the time, Jared is perfectly happy to just look intimidating. He doesn't purposely use it often. Today, he seems to have a point to prove, which is equal parts hilarious and sexy as all hell.

Brayden doesn’t bother looking at the principal, just softly answers Jared with, “He called Joey gay.”

“So?” Jensen prods.

“So he said it like it was the worst thing a person could be and it pissed me off.” 

Brayden's body is turned now, facing Jared and Jensen instead of the principal. His head is held a little higher, like he's not ashamed of what he did, like he would do it again in a heartbeat.

Even though he can respect the kid's desire to stand up for his friend, even Jensen can see the irony in promoting tolerance by hitting someone in the face. “Dude, you can't just go around punching people, okay?” He's not sure what they're supposed to do here. They're not his parents, and until this moment, Brayden hasn't really given them any reason to punish him for anything. He's been surprisingly well-behaved honestly. Even now, Jensen's not entirely sure they need to be grounding him or anything. He's pretty sure that Jared would agree that Brayden maybe didn't do anything so wrong.

“Mr. Ackles is right, Brayden.”

The words piss Jensen off and he can tell that Jared's shoulders stiffen a little bit, too. Of course he’s right, he usually is, and Brayden absolutely shouldn’t have hit the damn kid. The world isn’t so black and white, though. The fact that Chuckles in a Cheap Suit doesn’t see that is more irritating than anything else has today.

“What happened to the other kid?” he asks and the principal gapes a little bit like he's surprised by the turn in the conversation.

“He had a bloody nose. Some swelling,” he starts to explain.

“He means what kind of punishment did he receive,” Jared interjects, his tone conveying that he’s totally done with this conversation now. 

“Punishment?” With a shake of his graying head, the principal looks at Brayden and then back at the united pair standing next to his window. “Brayden started the fight.”

Once, after they'd been dating for about four months, some guy mouthed off to Jensen in a bar. He said something about emo fuckers and Jensen's eyeliner. As is usually his M.O., Jensen let it roll. The guy didn't like being ignored, and eventually started shouting all sorts of idiotic bull shit over the din of conversation and the 80's rock playing on the jukebox in the corner.

He tried, really fucking tried to get Jared to stand down and let it go but that was the night that Jensen learned, for all Jared's apathetic bluster, he does care about certain injustices. Or, at least, he cares about certain people in his life. He's not about to let shit go quietly until he says what he has to say about it.

“So your policy then,” Jared starts, hands resting loosely on his hips, “is that anyone can spread whatever moronic bull shit they want, as long as it doesn't result in physical violence?” His tone says that he thinks the principal is an incompetent child. Jensen wonders if this man knows how low Jared’s tolerance is for children of any kind.

The principal clenches his jaw and plasters a smile so fake on his lips it almost hurts Jensen to look at it. “I am not homophobic, Mr. Padalecki,” he starts to defend himself.

“He didn't ask if you were,” Jensen jumps in because he's pretty sure that Jared's going to get tired of trying to talk to this guy in about fifteen seconds. 

He’s also sure that Jared breaking the principal's jaw isn't going to help Brayden's case at all. 

“Listen, we didn’t come here to debate your tolerance policy. It just seems fucked up that this kid is trying to do the right thing and he’s the one being lectured and punished, while the one who’s too ignorant to know that people’s differences don’t actually make them bad people is being treated like the victim.” 

Jared shakes his head and pushes off of the filing cabinet. “C’mon Bray,” he says, patting the kid’s shoulder and leaving the office without waiting for a response.

They file out of the school quietly, all of three of them easing into Jared’s car. Jensen fiddles with the radio dials while Jared clutches tightly to the steering wheel, his jaw clenching and relaxing until they’re back on the freeway.

“Thanks guys,” Brayden's small voice fills the silence.

Jared just huffs a laugh and casts a glance over his shoulder. “Stop punching people in the face, kid,” he instructs, tone serious. 

Jensen laughs and even Brayden chuckles in spite of it all. 

“And stop fuckin' swearing in class, dammit,” Jensen throws in for good measure, adopting his most parental voice, which pretty much sounds like his normal voice because - who is he even kidding? - he's not in the least bit paternal.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he almost laughs at the mock-sincerity on Brayden's face when he looks pointedly at Jensen. “I learned it from watching you,” he intones and Jensen makes a mental note not to let him watch YouTube with Mike at the store anymore.

“We're legal,” is his lame-ass answer to that accusation.

Jared's eyebrow shoots up to his hairline. “What is the legal swearing age in California, Jensen?” he asks.

“Fuck you,” Jensen responds, looking past Jared’s shoulder to the ocean just beyond the highway.

It occurs to him in this moment that this life they’re living is pretty fucking surreal. The ocean here is beautiful, they both own businesses that they love, and they have a pretty solid relationship. Coupled with the fact that they have great friends and this favor they’re doing for one of them is pretty cool - he’s only getting in trouble for something neither of them think is wrong, so that’s alright - it’s pretty hard to convince Jensen that his life is anything short of sick at the moment.

“I want a taco,” he announces and Jared stretches his arm out around the back of Jensen's seat with a look that says I love you, you random dork while Brayden leans back in his seat and taps his hands to some unheard rhythm against his thigh. 

For the first time in more than a week, Jensen lets himself believe that everything is just going to work itself out, and he has nothing to really worry about at all.

*

“Alright, dude, you're all set,” Jared pats the arm of the client he's been tatting for the last four hours. His eyes are starting to burn and his hand is cramped from the constant gripping of the gun and the pulling of skin. He never thought he'd be the guy who couldn't wait to get home, but dropping onto the couch with a cold beer and Jensen sounds like maybe the best fantasy he's ever allowed himself.

Of course, Jensen's been crazy busy lately, so the chances of him actually coming out of his office to watch television are slim-to-none. The Macy's deadline looms ever closer, and Jared's not sure he's ever seen Jensen so focused on anything in the entire three years he's known him. It's annoying when Jared wants to see him but it's also kind of inspiring. It’s pretty fucking hot, too, so that’s alright.

Turning, he looks toward the back of the shop, where Brayden is holding his sleeve up over his bony shoulder and Sophia is pressing thin, white paper to his skin. “What the fuck are you two doing?” he barks.

Both Brayden and Sophia shoot guilty looks in Jared's direction and then Sophia smiles easily and shrugs. “Experimentin',” she answers impishly and then relents with a bratty sigh. “It’s not like I’m going to give him a real one.”

“You could,” Brayden tells her, eyes flitting between Sophia and the design she's stenciled onto his arm. “It's pretty bad ass,” he adds, blushing a little bit when Sophia smiles.

Oh, Jesus, Jared thinks to himself, wondering if Chad will bother to beat the shit out of a kid like he would anyone else who flirts with Sophia. He hopes not. He'd hate to have to knock his best friend out. “Yeah, you'll be thinkin' bad ass when Chris gets home and kicks yours,” he points out, knowing that he sounds way too 'mother hen' for his own liking. 

The bell over the door dings, and Jared can't fight the smile that spreads over his lips when he sees Jensen standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his loose-fitting dickies. Sure, he wakes up beside that face every morning, but it never really gets old, looking up and seeing that face focused solely on him. 

“Hey, stranger,” he greets when Jensen crosses the room and stops next to Jared's station. He drops a quick kiss on Jensen's lips and returns to cleaning his tools. 

Jensen just rolls his eyes and cracks his knuckles. “You done for today?” Jared nods. “Wanna go for steak?”.

“What's the occasion?” They don’t need an occasion to grab dinner together, except lately it seems like they do.

Shrugging, Jensen jams his hands into his pockets and leans back against the counter at his back. “Just finished my line,” he says as though it's nothing. “Thought we could celebrate.”

“It's done?” Jared asks, smiling even wider because he knows it's a big deal, even if Jensen won't admit it. “That's awesome, Jen,” he winks, grabbing another quick kiss before making sure all of his ink wells are sealed.

Jensen nods and casts a glance over his shoulder. “Think Soph will mind?” he nods and Jared follows his eyeline to the pair across the way. “I mean, we can take him with, if you want,” he starts to backtrack, like he's embarrassed for implying that he wants some time alone with Jared.

They’ve been together for approximately one hundred and sixty weeks and Jared can’t remember a single one of those they’ve spent without at least a few uninterrupted hours of time together. It’s not always about fucking, though they do their lion’s share of that, but about hanging out together. They talk, sometimes they don’t say anything at all, watch a movie or read or just laugh together. Even if one of them is out of town for work, they spend time alone on the phone together.

He supposes maybe it’s embarrassing how Jared realized how much he loves hanging out with Jensen just because he hasn’t been able to for the better part of two weeks. They still fall asleep and wake up together, but it’s not the same thing now that there’s someone else in the house all the time. Brayden’s a surprisingly good kid and all - Jared is actually liking having him around more than he thought he would - but nobody is worth sacrificing all of Jared’s alone time with Jensen. 

Maybe that’s selfish, but Jared doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to be Father of the Year. He needs Jensen.

Reaching an arm out, Jared grabs Chad as he walks by on his way to his station. 

“The fuck you touchin' me for?” Chad asks, all indignant, though he makes no move to escape.

Jared just rolls his eyes. “Can you and Soph take the kid for a few hours?” The fact that he doesn't have to say anymore for Chad to nod, roll his shoulders, and then smirk like a motherfucker is yet another reason that he's Jared's wingman. “Thanks, man,” he smiles brightly and Chad just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, dude. Call when you're all fucked out and ready to have him back,” he sighs and continues on to the back of the studio.

The ease with which Chad takes it all in and lets it all right back out again makes Jared huff a laugh and he stands to smooth his hands over the thighs of his jeans. “Come on, Vivienne Westwood. Let's celebrate,” he winks and Jensen rolls his eyes as he follows Jared from the shop and into the bright sunlight of the afternoon. 

If Jared doesn’t answer when Jensen asks how the fuck he knows who Vivienne Westwood is, it’s just because he didn’t hear the question.

*

There was one time, when he was about fourteen, he was sent to live with this Christian couple in El Paso. Jared doesn't think about them often because it's embarrassing to remember the times he was the reason things didn't work out. They were good people and, if he hadn't been so angry, so determined to fuck the world like it had fucked him, they probably would have kept him until he graduated.

He remembers the way they used to sit together at dinner, talking about their day and smiling at each other like there was nobody else in the entire world that mattered as much to each of them than the other. In one particularly unguarded moment, he let himself think that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't suck out loud to have somebody look at him like that someday. Of course, he didn't really believe it would ever happen, he couldn't afford hope at the point, but he remembers the flash of it in his chest on that one occasion.

Over their main course, Jensen talks about how different Tom's been lately, about how much he's changed since owning up to his sexuality and all but moving in with Mike. It's not important conversation, doesn't really have anything to do with them as a couple, but it reminds Jared of that day back in El Paso. It takes him back to a time when he was wishing that somebody would smile at him like he held their entire world in his hands. 

It doesn’t matter that Jensen’s words are mindless gossip. It matters that he has that smile on and he’s aiming it directly at Jared. It matters that he looks like nothing he’s saying would be worth relaying at all if he wasn’t telling it to Jared.

“I love you,” Jared blurts out a few minutes later, in the middle of some anecdote about frozen coffee and Danneel's pink tank top.

It surprises him as much as it surprises Jensen and it feels like an eternity that they just stare at each other, eyes wide and a little bit confused. They’ve said it before, obviously, but it's really not that often that the words come out of either of them. Given their past histories, neither of them trusts the phrase all that much. To be honest, it’s pretty unnecessary for either of them to hear it all the time. They’re both _more talk, less action_ guys.

“Okay,” Jensen nods finally, smiling but confused. He’s thrown, completely distracted from his story, that much is obvious, and Jared wants to tell him that it’s not a big deal. 

 

But it is kind of a big deal. 

It’s not new or shocking in any way, but Jared really fucking feels it this time, bone deep. “No, I,” he starts to stammer around the words, wondering why he’s become such a fan of talking about his feelings lately. It’s not a thing he’s familiar with or even something he remembers building up to, but things just seem to be spewing out of him without his permission or any forethought whatsoever. “I don’t know, man. Just thought you should know, I guess.”

Under the table, he feels Jensen's foot crawling up the inside of ankle and then passing over his calf. He's not sure if that makes him feel suddenly hot, or if it's the way Jensen's smile threatens to swallow his whole face just a few feet away. “Me, too,” he responds.

They’re not a summer blockbuster romcom couple, he and Jensen. They’re punk outcasts from opposite sides of Texas, opposite family backgrounds and paths in life, who found each other in LA, in the middle of trying to follow their own dreams. They’ve managed to overcome their baggage and fall easily and madly in love with each other. If anything, they’re an indie film waiting to happen, but Jared isn’t sure any filmmaker could capture them in all of their messy glory.

Despite the fact that they’re party boys who’ve had some random, abandoned pre-teen thrust into their lives, forcing them to adjust their way of life and adapt to a whole new set of challenges, their lives are never going to be a story for the ages. They’re not the surprise hit of the summer. 

Nobody is ever going to be able to portray, with any amount of accuracy, what Jared feels when he shifts his foot under the table and Jensen’s leg drags against his. No actor cast to play Jensen would ever be able to mimic the unadulterated joy that shines from his eyes when he tosses a couple of bills onto the check that the waiter leaves, when he pulls his keys from his pocket and reaches for Jared’s hand, tangling their fingers together easily.

As they leave the restaurant, Jared thinks it doesn’t matter, none of it does. It doesn’t matter if anyone else gets it, understands them, or approves of this life they’re living together. It doesn’t matter that it’s all taken a decidedly different turn in the last few weeks, or if things are changing in ways that Jared would resist, if he bothered stopping long enough to think about them. Just, none of it matters.

Their life isn't a movie and it's not going to be tied up in a neat little bow after a couple of hours. The characters aren't always going to be sympathetic, and occasionally, it's going to feel trite and somewhat cliché. It doesn't follow any kind of pattern or outline, but it just doesn't fucking matter.

It’s still good. Shit, it’s still really fucking good, every single part of it. With all of it’s flaws and imperfections, they’re really lucky and things are just really fucking good.

Also good is the way Jensen drops to his knees the second they close the front door of their house.

*

A few hours later, Jared makes his way into the kitchen, thoroughly fucked and freshly showered. Brayden is sitting at the kitchen island with Jensen leaning across from him. They’re both looking at a piece of paper on the countertop.

“S'goin' on?” Jared asks, brushing his hip against Jensen's on his way to the refrigerator. He grabs a beer for himself and an energy drink for Jensen and then slides a soda bottle to Brayden before taking his first drink.

Jensen holds the paper up and then puts it back down to open his can. “PTA fundraiser carnival,” he says with a smirk, and Jared rolls his eyes. The fucking PTA?

Brayden's eyes are on him now, too, and Jared thinks maybe he just unwittingly walked into something really painful and possibly ugly. “What?” he asks, lowering his beer bottle and gripping the counter behind him.

“The school is asking for adult participation. Volunteers and donations for a silent auction and shit,” Jensen explains. “But it's next weekend and I'm gonna be in New York for the Macy's thing.” 

The explanation hangs in the air and Jared knows he's supposed to say something, but he doesn't know what. “Pretty sure we didn't leave the best impression last time we were there, Jen,” he say, very much not appreciating the way Brayden rolls his eyes. “What do you want me to do? I can put up a certificate for some chair time,” he offers.

Jensen clears his throat and Brayden looks back at his hands, like he doesn't want to be singled out in this conversation. “Bray kinda has a great idea,” he prods and the kid just blushes.

Jared waits, but it's obvious that Brayden's not going to say anything. “You gonna make me guess, Kid?” he asks.

Exhaling a deep breath, Brayden finally meets Jared's eye. It’s really starting to bug him, the way Brayden still seems scared of him at times. He doesn’t think he’s a scary guy. Jensen will tell anyone who asks, and a lot of people who don’t, that Jared is just a teddy bear. It’s not his favorite description, but it’s Jensen, so he gets away with it. The point is that it’s annoying that Brayden doesn’t get it yet.

“There's a few parents that are doin' stuff for charity. Like, not for the school, but for other charities around or whatever. Like they're tryin' to teach us about giving back to others or some shit,” Brayden starts to explain, his voice draining with each syllable he pushes out. “Thought maybe you could set up a booth?”

“You want me to tattoo a bunch of a middle school kids?” Jared asks, eyes wide at the absolute badness of that idea.

Jensen jumps in to calm him down. “Not permanently, dumbass. Just some airbrushed shit. Take Soph with you, kinda like face painting, only cooler and you can charge more.”

Okay, so maybe that's not a terrible idea. “Do they choose the charity?” he asks and Brayden shakes his head and points, like Jared would get to choose his own. “Cool. Tell 'em I'll do temp tats for the A Dog's Life,” he nods easily. And just like that, it's settled.

On his way to the theater, Jared's thoughts drift back to the life that he and Jensen are sharing now. In the course of the last twelve hours, he has tattooed a D-list reality television star, had a really stellar dinner and even better sex with his too-hot-to-be-real boyfriend, and agreed to do charity work at a middle school PTA function. 

Charity work at a middle school for the PTA. What the fuck is even happening?

*

Business trips, in Jensen’s humble and professional opinion, are boring as hell. He flies into town, checks into a stuffy hotel, meets with a few talking heads - this time from Macy’s - pounds out the details of a deal, and then heads back to the damn hotel. Then he catches a few hours of shitty sleep and flies back home to familiarize himself with Jared’s body. It’s all so fucking boring. Well, all of it but Jared’s body.

He expected this trip to be the same, but Tom spends the entire cross-country flight trying to convince Jensen to do something special for Pride week this year at the store. He wants to do something to embrace their community, apparently. Just like everything else in Tom’s life, he’s embraced coming out with tenacity and complete single-mindedness. He’s going to be Santa Monica’s own Harvey Milk, probably.

By the time they get to the hotel, he's looking forward to five minutes by himself, still trying to figure out if he really agreed to let Tom host a skate exhibition for drag queens. 

Though the room is still impersonal, it’s rather ostentatious. He’s not going to complain about the garden tub with the jets, though. It’s roughly the size of a swimming pool and he spends more than a couple of minutes thinking about having Jared in it with him, relaxing himself before heading into his meeting.

By the time the meeting ends - standard negotiations and a final signature or forty, nothing exciting - there are four messages on his phone. One from Danneel, wishing him luck. One from Jared wishing him the same, only with dirtier promises of how they'll celebrate when he gets home. The third message is from Brayden, which is a surprise, enough that the kid’s, “ _hope everything went okay, Jen,_ ” actually chokes him up a bit.

The last message is from Chris, telling him that the band just rolled into Manhattan and they want to get a drink before their set. Jensen wants to sleep until morning, but he's never really been able to say no to Chris.

“You look like shit on a stick,” the low laughter sounds at Jensen's back.

Turning, he narrows his eyes at the urban cowboy standing at his table and flips him a middle finger. “You should talk,” he fires back at Chris and then stands to offer Steve a half-hug before sinking back into the chair at the table near the wall.

“So, sell-out, how'd the meeting go?” Steve asks and Jensen rolls his eyes.

“Made more money signin' my name than you will on this whole goddamn tour,” he nods proudly and accepts the handshakes and congratulations from his friends with ease. “Not that you wanted to meet me to talk about my line,” he adds when the looks between Chris and Steve grow too obvious to ignore.

“Lindsay and the asshole are back together,” Chris says flatly.

The asshole being Brayden's dad, obviously. Jensen doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that information, though. It clearly means that they’re hanging around town but haven’t bothered looking for Brayden. Either that, or Lindsay told him where Brayden is and his dad’s just not interested in having him back. Jensen is fine with either alternative, actually, being as he’d rather carve his eyeballs out with a fork than every let the kid he’s come to know go back to living with a guy who would walk out on him in the first place.

“And that means,” Jensen baits when Chris just shoots Steve another knowing glance.

He takes a drink, sighs, and leans back in his chair, cowboy hat slipping a little further over his forehead. “They checked themselves into rehab this morning,” he says, shaking his head a little bit. “Said they wanna do better. Be better.” An eye roll says Chris doesn't really believe it will work, but whatever.

Jensen doesn't really care if they never kick whatever addiction they're choosing to eradicate. “What's it mean for Bray?” he asks, and it doesn't even occur to him that the thought of sending the kid back to his dad bothers Jensen so fucking much. It actually hurts his chest a little bit, but he chalks that up to drinking too fast, or possibly jetlag.

“Means they're gonna want him back when they get out,” Chris explains slowly, hand dragging his beer bottle in a lazy circle against the pitted table before him. “Assuming they work their shit out or whatever, they'll be ready to pick him up in thirty days.”

An overwhelming urge to protest wells up in Jensen’s guts. It’s less protest and more tantrum, actually, as he wants to stomp his feet and scream and demand that Chris do something about this. He has to tamp down the urge to insist they figure out a way to stop it, for Christ to get permanent custody, and for he and Jared to be able to watch the kid whenever he’s out of town. It’s the best solution for Brayden, he’s sure.

Because, honestly, Brayden might stay up a bit later on school nights than a kid his age should. Maybe he swears a little and gets to watch movies that a lot of his friends are still considered too young to watch. He’s comfortable with them, though, and he’s coming out of a shell a lot. He laughs all the time. He’s happy, as far as Jensen can tell, and that’s gotta count for something. He was miserable the night Jensen met him. Now he’s outgoing, cracking jokes over dinner, entering rooms without waiting for an invitation.

Jensen is just getting to the point he actually remembers Brayden’s there most of the time. He gets up in the morning, for fuck’s sake. He takes the kid to school and always remembers to have someone pick him up and drop him off at one of the shops. He’s even remember not to make inappropriate comments and hand gestures about Jared’s dick and what he’d like to do with it. He’s adjusting, shifting his life around for this kid, and it’s becoming a welcomed routine.

“You're just gonna let it happen, huh?” is all he asks. He may not know much about child protective services or the foster system, but he's not going to have the same fight about his ignorance with Chris that he has with Jared.

Chris's shoulders shrug. “Nothin' else I can do, man. Wish to God I could, but the law's not exactly on my side in this thing. Not if they actually clean up their act, ya know?”

“What if Brayden doesn't wanna go back?” 

Seems to Jensen like the kid should have a say in all of this, like maybe he should get to decide if he wants to live with the fucker who left him with no warning, or with the people who actually notice when he's around.

Steve takes a drink and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “California law says that a kid has to be fourteen before he can make that call for himself,” he explains, and Jensen has no doubt that Steve's studied just as much of the legal side of this as Chris has. It’s possible he already knew it, for some random reason. Steve's like that – a veritable font of useless information.

After considering arguing for a second longer, Jensen reaches out to snag the waiter’s attention when he rounds their table. They're going to need another round, or three. Once he processes the ramifications of all of this, he's going to have to talk to Jared about it, and they're going to have to tell Brayden. He just knows he's going to need a lot more alcohol tonight before he can consider doing either.

*

“This is fucking insane!” Sophia exclaims as she finishes one sugar-hyped kid and waits for the next to pay Sandy and pick out a design. 

They've been airbrushing temporary tattoos on arms and necks and backs for the better part of an hour and Jared's pretty sure they're going to run out of paint before this line dissipates. The only consolation, really, is that they're going to be able to help a lot of animals with the money they're making.

“How much for a sleeve?” Sandy asks over her shoulder and Jared scrunches his face as he considers it, and then the kid standing there waiting. He's scrawny, even skinnier than Brayden. If Jared uses some old throw-back design, he can probably knock it out in fifteen minutes. They've been charging anywhere from five to fifteen dollars, depending on size and the amount of color the kid wants.

“Twenty-five,” he answers easily, finishing the wing of the butterfly the little girl in front of him asked for. “You're done, kiddo,” he smiles and she blushes before thanking him quietly and running off.

Horrifying as it is to admit, Jared's kind of enjoying this whole charity thing. He doesn’t want it to become a regular thing, and he's pretty sure that being around this many kids on a consistent basis would kind of kill part of his soul, but Sophia and Sandy are keeping him pretty entertained and the kids aren't so bad, for the most part. 

The principal's rule of ' _nothing naked and nothing profane_ ' makes him laugh every time one of the boys asks for a bleeding skull or a little girl with zero curves wants a Playboy bunny somewhere on her hip or shoulder. If his hand wasn't so damn cramped, he might even say he was having fun.

“You got any quarters in there?” Brayden asks, breathless as he breezes into the tent they've set up on the edge of the school parking lot. His hair is sweat slick against his forehead and he's giving Sandy puppy dog eyes that would make Jensen proud. 

Sandy starts to open the cash box, but Jared just waits for his next victim to sit and turns toward the kid. “You wanna work for that cash, kid?” he asks and Brayden cocks his head like the thought of working never occurred to him. “Run out to the van and grab my extra primary color pallette,” he nods in the direction of the company van and Brayden nods without question.

“Hey, Bray,” Sophia calls after him and raises an empty tube of black ink. “Can you bring the black, too?” When he's gone again, she turns to Jared. “You should teach him how to do this,” she mentions off-handedly before looking at the design catalog in Sandy's hand and taking in the tat her client wants.

Jared huffs a laugh and listens as the boy in his chair explains the vines and barbed wire he wants around his bicep. He wants to remind the kid that it's not 1998 anymore and nobody cool wants barbed wire in 2009, but it's not his job to dictate what these kids get. As long as it fits within the conduct code - and isn't it just the funniest thing that he even bothers thinking about a fucking conduct code in the first place? - they can have whatever they want. Let their parents deal with the why. It’ll wash off in the shower anyway.

“I'm serious, ya know,” Sophia says over the rush of the We the Kings song that comes blaring out of the computer Sandy insisted they set up in their tent. Jared's pretty sure she's the most brilliant woman on the planet, being as every kid in line seems to know every word to every song she put on her master mix. 

“This is his thing,” Jared dismisses Sophia's idea as he sets about outlining the kid's damned barbed wire. “Let him have fun.”

“He wants to learn,” she presses, dropping the subject when Brayden comes back, hands full of ink tubes. 

Jared nods toward the table they've set up and watches from the corner of his eye as Brayden lays everything out just the way Jared does back in the studio, like he's been watching and memorizing or actually learning, like maybe Soph picked up on something he didn't.

“You're pretty skilled at that,” he smiles when Brayden looks up, beaming proud at the compliment. “Come here,” he motions with his shoulder and Brayden shifts over until he's peering around Jared's bicep and taking in the motion of his hands over the skin he's marking.

When Jared finishes, he fishes a handful of quarters out of the pocket of his jeans and drops them into Brayden's hand. “Go on,” he says and knows he's smiling when Brayden runs off. He’s still smiling when he turns to see Sandy staring at him, kind of surprised and kind of not at the same time. “What?”

“You're so fucking transparent,” she accuses, taking the money from the next kid in line and pushing the catalog toward the girl. “You're loving this.”

Love is kind of a strong word, but talking Brayden through the process of inking was kind of a rush, he can admit. It's sort of the same thing he felt when he taught Chad five years ago. It's this charge he gets when he sees someone interested in what he does. It makes him feel like he knows something, like he's not the idiot high school drop out who everyone swore was never going to amount to anything. It makes him feel like maybe he has something to offer a small corner of the world.

They’re not mirror images or anything, but Jared can see why Jensen thought he would connect to Brayden in some ways. The truth, Jared thinks now, is that he probably resisted getting close to Brayden in the beginning. Jared was an artistic kid, eager to learn everything he could about every medium available to him, when he was Brayden’s age. Someone took the time to show him the ropes and it made a difference.

Maybe giving back isn't about donating money to the community and donating coats for kids or whatever. Maybe it's just about showing someone what somebody showed him back in the day. Maybe that's all the universe really requires of everybody – use the skills they were born with to benefit someone other than themselves. Put like that, Jared thinks maybe it's not such a dumb concept.

He expects that he won't see Brayden again until his quarters run out, so he's kind of surprised when the kid pops back into the tent ten minutes later with big Styrofoam cups of soda for both of them. He sets Jared's on the table, out of reach of his elbows, and sinks onto the extra stool they brought for Sandy that she's yet to use. 

Forty-five minutes later, a shadow falls over the booth and Jared can almost feel the hush. He's learned, over the course of the last couple hours, that it means an adult is among them. The kids always seem to shut up a little bit when one of their parents comes by to see what all the fuss is about.

The voice he hears addressing Sandy sends a jolt of something totally unpleasant down Jared's spine. "Just checking to make sure everything's running smoothly," the principal says in that fake tone that clearly means, _I'm not sure why I ever agreed to let you deviants do this in the first place_.

Jared turns, equally sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, when Brayden slips off his stool and grabs the machine from Jared's hand. "It's awesome, Mr. Gardner," he assures the man enthusiastically. "You should see how much money we're raising for charity and everything!" Without missing a beat, he holds the machine up to the principal's eyeline. "You should totally have a seat. Jay does a mean fire-breathing dragon. Or," he grins even wider, if that's even possible, "I could try it. I mean, I'm not as good at portraits as Soph is, but I'm not bad."

The shocked, and slightly terrified, look in the principal's eye as he rushes away from the table sends Jared into a fit of laughter that he hasn't heard from his own throat since Jensen left. As far as Jared has seen, it's completely out of character for Brayden to address anyone outside of the house like that, but that was honestly one of the best things Jared’s seen in awhile.

"Dude, that," he holds a hand up and Brayden leaps off the ground to hit it before returning to his stool, “was fucking brilliant!"

For the rest of the afternoon, Brayden's stuck to Jared's side like glue, wide eyes taking in everything that Jared’s hands do against the skin of his classmates. Jared asks him questions, and Brayden answers. Sometimes Brayden's the one with an inquiry, and Jared's happy to instruct him every step of the way. 

Something weird is happening here. Jared can feel it in the air, but he forces it into the back of his mind and finds that he really does enjoy his day with this kid, even if it is a PTA fundraiser.

*

They're home by eight o'clock and Brayden runs off to play video games while Jared checks his voice mail and talks to Jensen for a few minutes. Something's off, he can tell immediately, but Jared's not going to push the issue. Jensen will tell him what's up when he's ready, and Jared trusts that enough to be okay with it.

When he finally wanders into the rec room, Brayden's sort of playing the game, and sort of getting his ass handed to him by a band of flesh-eating zombies. “Dude, you're better than this,” Jared comments, dropping a Hot Pocket into Brayden's line of vision.

He pauses the game and spins on the floor, nibbling on the food while Jared takes a seat on the couch. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to punch me in the head?” he asks and Jared laughs. Maybe Brayden’s learning more than just tattoos from Jared and his friends. “I had a-,” he stops and shakes his head, takes another bite, and swallows longer than necessary while Jared waits him out. “Thanks. For today, ya know? For doin' it. And for showin' me,” he trails off, like he doesn't know quite how to finish.

Jared just nods. He doesn't really know what to say, either. Any time? It was nothing? I had fun, too? None of it's particularly emo, but he just doesn't know how to talk about this shit, to give and take compliments. He can absorb the positive if it’s about his work, any of his staff’s work, or about Jensen, but when it comes to himself, Jared just doesn’t know.

“Your art's pretty good, ya know?” He settles for throwing out the praise he's comfortable with and Brayden nods, still eating and kind of staring at the floor in front of him. “Little practice, you'll totally be runnin' me outta business in a few years.”

The blush that rushes up Brayden's neck and into his cheeks makes Jared feel something. He doesn't know what, but it's more than he's used to, maybe more than he's comfortable with.

“Dad used to say it wasn't natural,” Brayden mutters, almost too quietly to be heard over the silence in the room. “Kid my age shouldn't be so good at drawing and shit.” He rests his Hot Pocket on his thigh and picks at the carpet in front of him. When he looks up and meets Jared's eye head-on, it kind of knocks Jared back in surprise a little bit. “Is it weird that I miss him sometimes?”

Swallowing a gulp of beer that slides down the wrong tube, Jared shakes his head and tries to figure out how in the hell he's supposed to answer that question. “No,” he finally settles on honesty. He and Jensen decided back when this whole thing started that they weren't going to lie to Brayden about anything if he asked them directly. Jensen's not here, but Jared's pretty sure the rule still applies.

“Feels weird,” Brayden says, scooting across the floor until he can rest his back against the wall. There's yards of space between them, but Jared can't help but feel a little claustrophobic. “Like I shouldn't because, well, ya know,” he shakes his head and the expression on his face is tentative, like maybe he's not sure he should be talking about this with anyone, least of all Jared.

And something inside Jared's chest clicks. He doesn’t really talk about his background, except maybe a little with Jensen. It’s awkward at best, but he’s also never talked to anyone who might understand it. Chad left home when he was young, but it was still his choice. Sophia was adopted when she was seven, but she didn’t see the system the way Jared did. Jensen feels for him, Jared knows, but his life was pretty charmed growing up with his first-marriage, biological parents.

The truth is that Brayden isn't really like Jared, either. He hasn't had to live in juvenile halls because nobody wants him. At least there were people to take this kid in when his parents disappeared. Sure, they're still strangers to him, but at least they know some of the same people. That's more than Jared ever had. He still feels compelled to speak now like he never has been before.

“When I was your age, maybe a little younger,” he starts and his voice sounds strange, even to his own ears, “I started wondering about my dad. My mom. About everything. Nobody would answer me, and I was pretty sure it was because they either didn't know, or didn't care. Just, I don't know, felt like I had to know. Like a part of me was out there, missing, and I didn't know anything about it. They didn't want me or whatever. And a part of me was so fucking angry at them, ya know? But another part of me just really wanted a part of them, I guess. I don't know.”

Brayden picks at a hole in the knee of his jeans and doesn't look at Jared, like he understands how hard this must be for both of them to talk about. “You never knew either one of them?”

Jared shakes his head. “My mom was in prison when I was born. I guess she had a theory on who my dad was, but that guy was in jail, too. I don't know. I never met him.” It's funny how he's spent so much time avoiding talking about this stuff, and now it doesn't seem all that bad. Kinda like something that happened to someone else or something. “She was supposed to be in for somethin' like twenty-five years or something, I guess, but I never heard from her, so beats the fuck outta me if she's still there or whatever.”

“You never talked to her?” Brayden asks, eyes wide, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. “Cause, ya know, my mom took off right after she had me. Dad doesn't even have a picture or anything.” He chuckles, and the sound is biting and sarcastic. It kind of hurts Jared's ears coming from a kid as innocent and decent as Brayden. “I don't even know what she looks like.”

Jared shakes his head and takes another drink, arms stretched over the back of the couch as he looks over Brayden's head. “I had this one social worker when I was in junior high who told me my first foster mom used to take me to see her when I was a baby, but I don't fuckin' remember that shit, ya know? She tried to get me to go see her when I was, I don't know, thirteen? I think. Maybe fourteen. But by then, I was over it. Didn't care anymore.”

“You think your mom was a bad person? Or your dad? I mean, I don't know,” Brayden stops himself and shakes his head and Jared thinks he looks older than his twelve years right now, more tired than a kid his age should have to look, that's for sure. “You think it makes 'em bad that they didn't want you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Jared considers the question. He hasn't really even thought about his parents in a long damn time. It's probably weird to someone who grew up with theirs. He can't imagine that Chris or Sophia or Sandy ever goes months at a time without even giving a second thought to actually having parents. But they all know their parents, have faces to go with names. Jared doesn't really have either. He always kind of zoned out when the social workers would talk about his mom, and even she didn't know for sure who his dad was, so how's Jared supposed to care about people who are nameless and faceless and basically just mixed some DNA together for him?

He tries to consider his words before he says them. “Don't think it really makes a person bad if they don't want kids, ya know? Shit happens, though, and I don't know what it makes ya if you pussy out on the kid once you already have 'em. Fuckin' level up, ya know? Don't leave your shit for someone else to clean up. Probably why me and Jen never wanna have kids, ya know? Both know we ain't cut out for that shit, so it's best just not to bother, I guess." 

Brayden blanches at the words. “Yeah, I know.”

“What?” Jared cocks his head curiously at the tone in the young kid's voice.

Shaking his shaggy hair – way shaggier than when he first popped up at Chris's a few weeks ago – Brayden casts his eyes back to the floor. “That night at Chris's, I heard you. Ya know, in the kitchen. Thought you were gonna start throwin' punches or some shit. 'Cause of me. That's kinda why you scare the fuck outta me, ya know?”

A ball of regret sinks to the bottom of his stomach and Jared hates the implication that this kid thinks of him as scary. “Dude, that night? It was like -,“ He wants to make excuses, but he really can't, not when Brayden heard everything and Jared won't lie about not wanting him around. “I didn't know you then,” is all he offers with a shrug.

“I know,” Brayden answers in a whisper and then clears his throat, like maybe emotions he doesn't want to show are creeping up on him. “I just can't help thinking he had to have a reason for leaving, ya know? I mean, he used to be cool, and then he just wasn't. So there has to be some reason that he just took off, right?” He rakes his fingers through his hair and Jared can see so much of himself in Brayden now that it kind of scares him a little bit. “I just kinda wanna know what that reason is, ya know? Keep thinking maybe it won't hurt so much if I know why or what I did to make him go away.”

Stoic, that's how Sandy often describes Jared. He’s not cold or unfeeling, but he just doesn't show his emotions. He prefers to be the always cool, always collected guy. The one that never lets shit get to him. He's been masking his feelings for so long, compartmentalizing and shoving them back into remote corners, that he doesn't really remember how to express them anymore. 

If I know why or what I did to make him go away, though. That shit breaks Jared's heart into about a thousand pieces. He wishes to fuck all he had Jensen here to anchor him, put him back together again.

His shoulders shake with the anger and the pain that he feels. Not for himself – he's long since dealt with his own abandonment issues – but for this kid who thinks exactly the same way Jared did when he was twelve. He doesn't struggle with the blame and the self-doubt anymore, but he remembers them and nd he remembers the things he did because of them. The thought of Brayden turning into the kid that Jared was in high school is just too fucking painful.

“How long you lived here?” Jared asks out of the blue, even though he knows the answer.

“Couple weeks,” Brayden answers.

Jared holds three fingers up. “Three weeks you been livin' in this house, man. Three weeks and I already know you're hella talented and pretty fuckin' smart and funny as a motherfucker, right?” Brayden blushes but Jared keeps on. “I don't know what your dad's issues are. Hell, chances are he doesn't know what his issues are, man. But you?” Jared doesn't do touchy-feely moments often, and he hopes that Brayden's getting' this because he's not sure he'll ever be repeating himself. “Ain't nobody's life could possibly be worse because you're in it. I know that much.”

Brayden just looks at him for a second, the briefest hint of a smile on his lips, and then graciously starts his game again, which suits Jared just fine. 

They sit in silence for a little while, Brayden occasionally growling or cursing when things don't go his way in the game. Jared watches, content, and thinks it's pretty fucking ridiculous that he doesn't mind being at home on a Saturday night, watching this kid play video games, instead of partying until the ass crack of dawn. Maybe he'd feel differently if Jensen was here, but he's not, so Jared can't let himself be bothered to worry about the shift of pretty much everything in the world he thought was stable just a few weeks ago.

The beep of his cell phone alerts him to a text message and he lifts it to smirk at Jensen's words.

_Tom won't stop talking'. About Mike. And sex with Mike. Save me._

He punches a few buttons, his message reading: _At least he's not in the fucking closet anymore._

The response comes less than a minute later. _He fucked Mike in a closet once, though. Didn't much like it. Too dark or some shit. Seriously. I miss you._

Jared misses him, too. Probably more than is healthy. _We'll make up for lost time tomorrow,_ his message promises.

When Jensen's reply, _How?_ , comes through, Jared bites back a groan. He can't think about that now, not with Brayden sitting a few feet away. Though he's gotten better at it, Jensen is still completely inappropriate around the kid sometimes. It's cute, but it's also frustrating as all hell.

_Can't really talk about it now._

_I'm callin' in 20. Be alone, or listen to me jerk off and moan your name with the kid in the room. Don't care which._

“I hate him,” he grumbles low in his chest and Brayden casts a glance over his shoulder. “Jensen,” Jared clarifies.

Brayden rolls his dark eyes. “Can't stand to be away from you for more than a couple hours, huh?”

“I'm pretty irresistible, dude,” Jared points out, standing to work out the kinks in his arms and back. “You gonna play for a little while?”

Nodding, Brayden doesn't even bother to look up. “Go call your wife. I'm fine,” he assures with a wave of his hand. “Tell her I said hi,” he adds when Jared's almost out of the room and Jared has no idea if the kid bothers to turn and see the middle finger he throws over his shoulder in response.

He treks up the stairs, kicks a few stray pieces of laundry out of his path, and collapses against the bed. Sure, he hates talking about his emotions for about a thousand different reasons, but the at the top of the list is the fact that it's so goddamn exhausting. He hopes that Jensen's as worked up as he sounded in his texts, enough to take care of himself, because Jared's not sure he'll be much help.

The phone rings twice in his ear before a distracted, “Hey.”

“You're such a fucking tease,” Jared huffs out a tired chuckle and runs his hand over his face.

He can almost see Jensen shrug in his mind's eye. “Figured you'd pussy out on me or some shit, so I didn't bother getting' myself all worked up.”

Sometimes it's scary how well Jensen knows him, frankly. “I bet I could get ya all worked up,” he tries for seductive, but his voice sounds sleepy to his own ears.

Apparently to Jensen's, too, because he just laughs and Jared hears the other end of the line go quiet, like Jensen just turned the television off or something. “Nah. Moment's gone now. Just talk to me,” he instructs and Jared can hear shifting on the other end of the line, like Jensen's settling down on his hotel bed. 

For about ten minutes, Jared blathers on about the carnival and about the various tattoos that he did and about all of the things he's pretty sure he already told Jensen during their previous conversation a few hours ago. Then he blurts out, “I told Brayden about my mom tonight.”

Jensen's quiet for a long time and when he does speak, his voice is soft, guarded, like he's trying not to push too hard or too fast. “What about her?”

“Just about never meeting her and shit. He was talking about how he misses his dad sometimes and I,” he stops and sighs, eyelids drooping heavily as the ocean breeze blows through the open balcony door. “I don't know, man. A month ago, I woulda told you this shit was crazy. But now-,” He doesn't finish the sentence.

Jensen clears his throat and Jared feels the tension of their earlier conversation filtering back in. He's not going to ask, but he knows that Jensen's going to tell him this time. “Lindsay and Rick checked into rehab this morning,” he says flatly.

“The fuck's Rick?” Jared asks, more focused on pulling himself into a seated position and kicking his shoes off than on the words Jensen's saying.

When Jensen answers, “Bray's dad,” it feels like everything in the fucking world just stops, like time itself has just grinded to a halt.

He shouldn't care. In fact, Jared thinks maybe he should be happy that he knows exactly what that means. That the dickhead who left Brayden behind without a second thought is going to traipse back into his life and welcome him back. Jared suddenly wishes that the whole conversation tonight had never happened, because then he wouldn't know how happy this news is going to make Brayden, how hopeful he's going to be that everything's going to be just fine and how excited he's going to be to head home to his real family.

“Jay, you gotta say somethin' man. I am freaking out over here and there is not enough alcohol in the world to make me calm the fuck down.” 

Jensen sounds close to hysterics in his ear and Jared wishes he knew what to say, but he just fucking doesn't. “I'm not gonna tell him,” is the only thing that comes out.

“Do you think we should we wait until it's official? Like what if his dad doesn't make it through the program or changes his mind or something? We should wait until we know for sure, I think. I mean, should we even be the ones to tell him at all? Chris is his legal guardian or caretaker or whatever for right now, ya know? Maybe he should be the one to do it,” Jensen babbles on like he always does when he's nervous.

“I don't know,” Jared answers, because he really fucking doesn't. He knew this situation wasn't going to be permanent. Hell, he never wanted it to be, never even thought about anything beyond the month that the kid was supposed to be sleeping in their guest room. 

Now there's this constricting pain in his chest that can only be described as disappointment or something. 

The only other time he felt it was when he was eleven and that family took him and this other kid, Patrick, in. They had their own rooms, and a fucking huge ass television to play video games on and it didn't totally suck. He thought for sure that they were going to be the ones that stuck, until the guy lost his job and they couldn't really afford to keep both boys. Jared knew without anyone telling him that Patrick was going to get to stay. 

He felt this same squeeze in his chest that day and he swore that he would never want something like that ever again, that he would never let himself believe that everything was going to work out like some la-tee-dah fairy tale. 

Even now, fifteen years later, it never fucking does.

*

For the next three weeks, they argue constantly about the right time and way to tell Brayden about the upcoming changes in his life. Jensen thinks they should wait until everything's official and they know for sure that Rick is going to get his shit together and come back for the kid. Jared feels like they're lying to him by keeping it a secret. 

In the end, Jensen wins out and it's a week before he's going to be leaving them when they head into the rec room and sink to the couch together, pressed thigh to thigh, as Brayden focuses solely on the Tony Hawk game he's been playing since Jensen introduced him to it a couple weeks back. 

Neither know what to say or how to say it. Jensen doesn't know what to expect and Jared's pretty sure it's going to be a flurry of conflicting emotions that the kid runs through in record time.

Turns out, Brayden just kind of stares at them for a long time and then nods his head. “Okay,” is his only response before he turns wordlessly back to the game and resumes where he left off. The only indication that something's maybe not right is the fact that he's no longer swinging his hair out of his eyes or trying to actually keep his game character on his skateboard. He's just kind of pressing buttons and staring at the television.

For the next three days, Brayden ghosts through the house like a kid who used to live there, but doesn't anymore. He does his homework on the living room floor, tapping his pencil against the edge of the coffee table like he always has, but the distinct lack of rhythm is new and disconcerting. He eats dinner at the kitchen island but the smiles he offers at their lame-ass stories about the day's events never really reach his eyes. 

Finally, after he's helped Jensen with dishes one night, he turns and rests his hip against the sink. “You think he's really gonna change?” 

Jensen doesn't know how to answer. He knows that Jared and Brayden had a conversation, sort of, about their parents one night, but Jensen's never really thought about what he would contribute to one of those conversations. He allways figured it was just going to be Jared and Bray's thing. 

“I really fuckin' hope so, Bray,” he says. It's the most honest answer he can give the kid because he's not really sure that he believes it, but he also knows that Brayden needs to believe it.

Later, lying in bed next to Jared, Jensen squirms restlessly and fights to beat his pillow into submission. Jared reaches an arm out and runs it down the smooth, lean line of Jensen's back - but it does nothing to settle Jensen.

“Calm the fuck down,” Jared orders in a low voice that's filled with something that sound like humor, mixed with the faintest hint of concern.

Jensen just grunts into his pillow. It's the dumbest thing Jared's ever said. How in the hell is he supposed to calm down? Their life was good, right? A while ago, before Brayden, it was good. They were happy. Together, just the two of them, things were good. 

It took awhile to adjust but life with Brayden hasn't been a total crapfest, either. He's a good kid and they've had fun with him. They don't hit as many clubs or stay up until sunrise or fuck against whatever wall they happen to be standing near when the urge hits them, but that stuff's kinda secondary, Jensen's realized in the last eight weeks. 

Now, in just a couple of months, their lives are going to be slammed back into what they were before. Jensen still wants Jared all to himself as much as he ever has, but he’s freaking out here. Things are changing too fast, roller-coastering all over the place, and Jensen doesn’t know what to do with all of it. He doesn’t know what he feels or what’s going to happen next or where the fuck their lives are headed.

It’s just too goddamn much.

He throws the covers back and rolls out of the bed, skin stretched too tight over his shoulders. Nothing is right. Nothing fits. Everything's out of control. 

He grabs a pair of jeans from the chair across the room and steps into them, only to realize that they’re Jared's and are, therefore, way too big. Cursing, he rips them off, stumbles over the legs, and nearly falls back into the chair.

Before Jensen can fully wrap his head around the moment or finish the litany of curses rolling off his tongue, strong hands are pressing into his hips and Jared's kneeling in front of the chair, in front of Jensen. His eyes are wide now, filled with more concern than anything else, and he's massaging the bare skin at Jensen's waist as gently as he can while still being firm and reassuring.

“Hey,” his voice is soft in the darkness of the room and it stills Jensen, though it doesn't really calm him down much. “Look at me, Jen,” he coaxes.

Rolling his eyes, Jensen steps out of Jared's grasp and pulls on another pair of pants before reaching for his wallet on the high dresser to his left. “I gotta get outta here,” he mumbles to no one in particular.

But Jared's not one to just let go. He's got a hold on Jensen's wrist before Jensen can escape the bedroom, and his gaze has gone from worried to pissed in no time flat. “Where you goin'?” he demands.  
“Dammit, Jay, I don't know, okay?” Jensen explodes, ripping his arm away and then pushing Jared's shoulder when Jared tries to step to him. “Get the fuck offa me,” he pushes again, causing a little bit of give in Jared's stance. 

Jared could easily fight back, effortlessly keep Jensen from going anywhere, but he won’t. He knows damn well it won’t do any good, that they’d both end up screaming loud enough to wake Brayden and make things worse than they already are. Jensen breathes easier when Jared relents, crawling back into the bed while cursing Jensen under his breath.

Rather than apologizing, Jensen storms out of the room and down the stairs. He doesn’t know where the fuck he’s going, or why he’s going anywhere at all, really. He just knows that he has to breathe and he couldn’t in that bed.

He thinks about jumping in the car or on the bike, and just tearing through the streets for awhile. He considers heading down to Ollie and skating around for a couple of hours. For a second, he wants to head over to that diner a few miles out and drink milkshakes until his stomach aches. 

As he's walking through the kitchen, though, a light in the theater draws his attention. He's pretty sure he shut that off when they got done watching a movie earlier in the night, so he creeps over to the door to check it out, only to find Brayden staring at the blank screen, his knees pulled up to his chest in a chair that's far too big for his slight frame.

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, his voice sounding loud and clunky in the quiet room. “Aren't you supposed to be sleepin'?” 

Brayden just shrugs and casts a glance over his shoulder before returning his eyes to the fascinating floor on the ground in front of him. “Can't,” he finally says when Jensen rounds the corner and sits on the floor in front of him.

For a long time, they just sit there, not looking at each other or anything really, just staring and thinking. Jared's upstairs, probably sleeping again, and Jensen wonders if he should be here for this. It feels like a family moment. He doesn't know when he started thinking about Brayden as family, but he can’t deny that he does anymore. If this kid wasn't as much a part of his crew as Danneel and Mike and Tom and Chris and Jared, it wouldn't hurt so much to watch him leave. 

“Bray, I'm sorry,” he says after a few more minutes of silence.

“What for?”

It reminds Jensen of the first conversation they had, two months ago now. It's almost funny, the way his answer mirrors Brayden's from that day exactly. “Everything.” 

Brayden doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at the floor, like he's just a blank canvas. 

“Sorry you have to go through all this and that I can't make it easier for you.” 

For the first time, those big eyes find Jensen's and Brayden almost smiles. “You know you're the only person in this whole thing that's ever made it easy for me, right?” 

To say that the words surprise Jensen is an understatement. In fact, he's pretty sure he gapes like a fish out of water. “I don't. I just. Fuck it, Brayden, I hate this,” he sighs and shakes his head, huffing a laugh that is filled with anything but humor. “I'm supposed to be glad things are workin' out the way they are. Supposed to be happy that we're all gettin' our lives back, and I'm fucking not.”

It’s weird how Jensen realizes, for maybe the first time since any of this started, that Brayden is absolutely everything that Jensen is NOT supposed to want out of life, and the only thing that's really made everything click into place. 

“Is it bad that I am?” Brayden asks.

Every time he talks about his dad, it's in questions. Is it wrong that I feel this way about him? Is it bad that I want that with him? Am I fucked up for wanting it to be good? He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think anymore and he wants Jensen to assure him. He wants Jensen to make him feel comfortable and safe.

Jensen shakes his head and leans back against the wall, head resting there as he watches the ceiling. “I haven't seen my dad in eight years, man. Haven't talked to him in about six.” He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and shrugs his shoulders. “But if he called me tomorrow? Said he wanted to grab coffee and catch up?” He snaps his fingers and meets Brayden's eye. “That quick, I'd be there. Doesn't matter that he always thought my art was a waste of time, and that my style was idiotic, and that my lifestyle was unacceptable,” he makes the quotey fingers and rolls his eyes when Brayden's lips inch into a smile at the gesture. “Still my dad, ya know?”

There's a nod of the sandy mop staring back at him when Brayden lowers his forehead to his knee. “You're dad's a dick,” he mutters.

“What?”

Brayden looks up and his eyes are glassy, like he's trying to hold back his tears. It's weird, and it should be uncomfortable, but Jensen knows that the ache in his chest is more for the pain this kid is in than anything he's feeling at the moment. He's not even trying to tell himself any differently anymore. 

“If he thinks all that shit, he's a dick,” he states it as though Jensen should already know that, like obviously Jensen's dad's a dick for not accepting this guy sitting before him. “Nobody wanted me, Jen. Nobody. Not even Jay, really.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and then lets it go. It's the exact same thing Jared does when he's trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say without sounding like a giant nerd. “You're the only one who was, like, willing to take a chance on me or whatever.”

He doesn't say anything, and part of Jensen wants to argue on Jared's behalf because, well, he always wants to argue on Jared's behalf. Instead, he sits in the quiet with the kid that he's not going to be able to sit with after Thursday.

“You know this ain't gettin' you outta school in the morning, right?” Jensen asks when Brayden shifts in his chair and tries to stifle a yawn in the palm of his hand.

“Oh, please,” Brayden rolls his eyes and stands, stretching his thin arms over his head. The tee shirt he's wearing is the prototype from the Macy's line. “Why you always gotta act like my mom?” he teases as Jensen hops up from the floor and follows him from the room. 

“Why you always gotta be a little punk, huh?” he asks, smacking the back of Brayden's hair until the dark blond locks fly in all directions. 

He scrambles to smooth it down and rolls his eyes over his shoulder. He walks up two stairs and then stops and looks back at Jensen. “Thanks,” he says, voice smaller than it was in the theater. 

“Any time,” Jensen shrugs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You know that, right? Even after,” he stops because saying the date, naming the deadline, hurts his throat a little bit more than he'd like to admit. 

Brayden nods and turns to run back up the stairs. Jensen starts after him and then thinks better of it, turning on his heel to head out to the pool.

Sinking to the concrete edge, he rolls his pant legs up and immerses them in the warm water. With a cigarette lit between his lips, he considers the silence of the night around him and wonders, not for the first time, exactly what's going to happen after Thursday. What are their lives going to be like without Brayden?

He's on his third cigarette when he hears the door of the house opening behind him. “Hey,” Jared's voice is soft when he drops to the ground and presses his shoulder against Jensen's. 

Dressed only in his khaki shorts, Jensen thinks maybe Jared looks kind of like the angels do. Not that he's ever sayin' that shit out loud, but under the glow of the moon, his golden skin looks, well, heavenly. 

“Hey yourself,” he smiles sheepishly when Jared takes the cigarette from his lips and sucks back one drag and hands it back. “Sorry 'bout earlier,” he apologizes quickly and Jared just responds with a shake of his head. “I'm freakin' out,” he admits, as though Jared hasn't noticed that somehow.

Jared's foot hooks around the back of Jensen's ankle in the water and he turns his head to look over the water when he says, “Me, too.” He clears his throat and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “When this whole thing started, I was pretty sure you were out of your goddamn mind,” he chuckles and reaches for the cigarette again. 

Jensen just lights another one for himself and leans back, resting his weight on his arms. “Still pretty sure I am outta my goddamn mind,” he grunts. 

When the sky bleeds from black to deep blue and then morphs into a vibrant purple, Jared nudges Jensen's shoulder with his own. “TJ?”

Jensen exhales a long plume and licks his lips. “When?”

“Thursday,” Jared's eyes drift closed when he says the date.

The lump that rises in his throat is unexpected, but Jensen swallows it down. “Yeah,” he agrees and lets Jared pull him up by the hand and lead him back to their bedroom. 

*

“And I'm thinking if you just wrap it around here . . . “

Jared stopped listening about thirty seconds after Brock insisted on taking his shirt off to show exactly how he wanted his new shoulder piece to fit the contours of his body. He doesn't care about Brock's body or its contours, and he's pretty sure he never will.

He does care that Kane is finally home from traipsing around the country, making music, and Steve's easy-going chuckle keeps filtering through the shop like it was never gone. He cares that Genevieve has a new girlfriend and can't stop talking about her, even when they all wish that she would just shut up. He cares that Chad and Sophia broke up a week ago, and then got together two days later when Chad proposed. He cares that Sandy is on vacation and he feels like the whole entire shop might just fall apart around him if she doesn't get back soon.

He cares about his friends because, as someone wise once told him, that's all he's got. They’re the only thing that has kept him sane over the last four months, waking up in a house that is barely different, but seems strangely empty. These people are the ones who keep him from putting his fist through the wall when the weight of missing a little kid who's barely five feet tall comes crashing in over him like the waves at high tide. 

He and Jensen spent three days in Tijuana talking about all of the things they were going to do when they got home, all of the things that they hadn't been able to do with a kid hanging around the house, but when they got back to California, none of it seemed as appealing as it had just a few hours earlier. 

They’re not staying in every night or anything. They sure as hell haven’t kept up with the grocery shopping, either. They’re not really any tidier than they were before and the sex has bounced back to exactly where it was before, but there’s just something missing. There’s some _one_ missing.

Brayden wasn’t big or even all that boisterous, didn’t command a shit ton of attention, but his absence screams down the hallways of the house. They don’t talk about it, but Jared knows that Jensen feels the same way he does.

“. . . has to be in color, too,” Brock is still going on when Jared checks back into the conversation.

With a nod of acknowledgment, he stands from his stool, excuses himself, and tosses his gloves onto his station. He makes his way to the front desk and taps his finger until Genevieve looks up. “I'll be back,” he says and she nods before he pushes out the front door and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Ollie is bustling these days. The line at Macy's is a huge hit, like Jared knew it would be, and it doesn't hurt that Tom worked out an exclusive sponsorship deal with Ryan Sheckler for the tour season. Now every kid under twenty-one wants their board tricked out with Ollie decals and they all want to sport the gear that Sheck does, too. Keeping up with the demand for shirts, wrist bands, and hats is getting to be all Mike and Jensen can handle. They brought this new kid, Jake, on board about a week ago to help shoulder some of the burden, as well as another cashier, Julie, to help Danneel. 

Despite the fact that they're busier than they've ever been, Jensen's eyes light up when he sees Jared push through the doors. He's out of his office before Jared can even make it to the sales counter. “What's up?” he asks after a quick kiss.

He doesn't say it out loud, but this is the reason he hasn't lost his damn mind in the last six weeks. This man, with his eyeliner and piercings and blue-tipped hair, with his Dickies and his ridiculously huge Etnies and his Social Distortion tee shirt. This guy with his heart on his sleeve and his blind-you-like-the-sun smile. Jensen says that Jared is his anchor, but Jared knows the truth. He'd be lost without this kid right here.

“Come with me?” 

Without a second's hesitation, Jensen throws a glance to the counter. “Takin' off, Danneel,” he says and she just rolls her eyes and makes a waving gesture toward the door.

They're on the road before Jensen speaks again. “You gonna tell me where we're goin'?” 

Jared just shakes his head. He doesn't have to say it. Jensen will figure it out soon enough.

“You think this is a good idea?” he asks nervously when Jared parks the car near the curb of a run-down neighborhood just outside of town.

With a shrug, he kills the engine and slinks back in his seat. “I need it, Jen,” he says, knowing that he doesn't have to say anything else.

They sit for a couple more minutes, just watching the street. When Rick and Lindsay came to get Brayden that Thursday afternoon, the man seemed appropriately embarrassed for his actions. He was repentant, even though neither of them were much inclined to offer hugs and forgiveness. Civility was about as much as they could muster. 

Rick told them to stop by and see Brayden whenever they felt like it. He promised that the kid would be able to call whenever he wanted to, as well. They haven’t heard from him, though. He left a voicemail once, but it sounded like it drained every bit of energy he had just to sound chipper enough to make them believe he was okay. Jensen says they shouldn’t push him or make it any harder than it has to be, and Jared thinks he’s probably right. He doesn’t want to make the transition as impossible for Brayden as it’s turning out to be for them, that’s for damn sure.

Reaching across the seat, he pulls an envelope from the glove box and Jensen just smiles and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Now?”

It's been there for three weeks, and neither of them has had the balls to suggest they make the delivery. Brayden's birthday is tomorrow, though, and if they don't give it to him now, Jared knows damn well they never will.

He pushes out of the car and shoves his hands deep into his pockets, leading the way up the drive. Knocking on the door without knocking Rick out is going to be hard, but he thinks maybe he can handle it, for Brayden's sake.

Before they reach the house, the door flies open and a flushed, bright-eyed kid with nearly-chin-length locks comes barreling onto the rickety porch. “Fuck me sideways!” Brayden exclaims.

Jensen laughs so hard Jared thinks maybe he's going to fall over. “What the fuck I tell you about swearing, asshole?” he says when he can talk again and Brayden just rolls his eyes and sticks his hand out, letting Jensen pull him into a half hug. 

When he turns to Jared, he seems a little more hesitant but a little more excited, too. “What are you guys doin' here?” 

“You alone?” Jared asks, peering over Brayden's head to the darkened interior of the house.

He nods. “Lindsay got a job at the diner over on Third. And Dad's at the garage up the street,” he explains, pointing in two different directions at one time. “They usually roll in around six,” he adds, like he's afraid that these guys are going to think he's being neglected or something.

“You cool?” Jensen asks, eyebrow raised.

Brayden just smiles and nods his head again, looking happier than Jared remembers him maybe ever being. “Yeah,” he admits, and then blushes for the first time, dropping his eyes to the floor.

The really fucking weird thing is that, despite how much he thought this was going to suck, Jared feels a smile on his own lips. Just seeing for himself that Brayden is okay, that he’s not miserable and beaten down, actually makes him feel better. Now that he knows the kid is happy, he can’t help being happy for him. It’s a sacrificial kind of happiness he’s not sure he’s ever felt before, outside of Jensen.  
Brayden invites them in and tells them to have a seat anywhere. He brings them drinks like they always used to drink around the kitchen island while the three of them talked their day. The house smells like a stale ashtray, but there's nothing that Jared can see to be worried about. Everything points to Brayden being in a really good place. And while he hates that it's not with him and Jensen, he's glad to know that the kid's not living in danger or anything.

“So, you got a big birthday comin' up tomorrow, dude,” Jensen says after about twenty minutes of easy small talk. 

Brayden nods and almost blushes. “Yeah. Dad's lettin' me have some kids from the block over for a movie marathon. Lindsay's gonna rent some Roderiguez zombie shit for us.” He grins from under the fringe of his long bangs in Jared's direction, and Jared can't help returning the gesture. It's contagious or something. “I wanted some new Ollie gear, but we can't really, like, afford it right now or whatever.”

Jensen laughs at his side and Jared stretches back on the couch, fingers brushing the base of Jensen's neck. Jensen leans back into the touch with a roll of his eyes. “Dude, you know you ain't gotta pay for any gear you want. Make me a list. I'll have Chris drop it by,” he offers.

“Or you could always, ya know, come pick it up,” Jared suggests and Brayden smiles even wider. “Stop by the shop, too, man. Soph keeps sayin' she misses those big eyes starin' at her.” 

That's definitely a blush rushing up Brayden's neck now, and it makes Jared chuckle into his own bottle. “Come on, man. You make me sound like a stalker or somethin',” he defends himself weakly and then rolls his eyes. “Not like she didn't want me just as bad.”

Leaning forward, Jared reaches into his back pocket and pulls the envelope out. “Well, me and Jen wanted to make sure you knew we didn't forget your big day,” he says.

Brayden takes the envelope and he really looks surprised. “You guys didn't have to get me anything,” he starts.

But Jensen interrupts him while leaning heavier into Jared's side. “Shut up and open it.” It's not really noticeable, only Jared would really know that it means he's having a hard time holding it together. He drops his arm into the space between the back of the scratchy tweed couch and Jensen's waist, fingers digging reassurance into Jensen’s hip. 

Brayden pulls the tickets out of the envelope and his eyes fly wide. “Are you fucking kidding me? Backstage at All-American Rejects? This is,” he stops and swallows hard before his eyes dart back and forth from Jared to Jensen and back again. “This is the best fucking present ever!”

His heart does a fucking somersault in his chest, but Jared just shrugs and sets his bottle on the floor. “I got connections,” he says as though it's no big deal. Truthfully, it wasn't a big deal. All it took was one phone call and the promise of new art for the band and he was the proud owner of four backstage passes to a sold-out show.

They hang out for another few minutes and then Jared pushes himself up out of the couch. It's good to know that Brayden is in a good place, but too much of a good thing is going to break his heart and they need to get back to the real world. “Was good to see ya, Kid,” he winks, pulling Brayden into a half-hug as he walks to the door.

Brayden throws his arms around both of their waists and then practically jumps back, like he can't believe he just did something so damn weak. “You guys think maybe you'd wanna take me to this thing? I mean, I know this kid, Jordan, will wanna go with, but that leaves me two,” he holds the tickets up, eyes wide and hopeful.

“You sure you don't wanna take your dad and Lindsay?” Jensen asks, and Jared wants to kick him in the shins. Instead, he holds his breath and waits to see what Brayden says in response.

Rolling his eyes, Brayden follows them to the door. “Really? You think my dad's gonna wanna hang with AAR? You think he actually knows who they even are?” He looks away for a second, and Jared knows that means he's about to say something he thinks might get him made fun of. It's weird how well he knows this kid after just a few months. “I want you guys to come with.”

They tell him that they'll call closer to the date of the show and make some final arrangements and then step onto the porch. Brayden's still waving at them from the doorway when Jared pulls away from the curb, the foreign prickling of tears somewhere near the back of his eye sockets.

He doesn't resist when Jensen's hand covers his on the gear shift and their fingers weave together. “You okay?” he asks.

Is he okay? Three months ago, he would have asked what in the hell he had to be not okay about. Two months ago, he would have asked Jensen just what the hell they had to be okay about. Now Jared doesn't know what the hell happened to the guy he thought he was, and he's not exactly sure about the guy he's become. 

He just knows that thinking about the smile on Brayden's face means something to him. So they won't get to watch him finish out junior high or assure him that high school's not going to be so bad while he's living with them. That doesn’t mean they won't get to hear about his first girlfriend, or maybe actually get him to hang out for video game marathons from time to time. Just because he doesn't sleep in the room across the hall anymore, it doesn't mean that he can't be a part of their lives, right?

In the end, it's better this way, Jared knows. He and Jensen did alright not completely ruining the kid for a couple of months. They were pretty good babysitters, he thinks, but they're still nowhere near ready to be full-time, long-term parents. Just the word sends a chill down his spine.

_Some people come into your life, and they're just meant to be a permanent fixture for the rest of forever_ , he remembers this one pastor saying at this church that Jensen dragged him to when they first moved in together. _And some people come into your life only for a moment, meant only to teach you a lesson and then move on. Neither is more, or less, important than the other._

Squeezing the fingers entwined with his, Jared knows exactly who's who in his life and it's enough for him to answer Jensen's question with a, “Fine. You?” and mean it.

Jensen rolls his eyes and leans over the center console, lips pressing hotly against his ear. “Think you can make it home in ten?”


End file.
